


The Apprentice

by NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 230,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione receives a scroll with mysterious information, she makes the monumental mistake of taking Albus Dumbledore up on his offer. LV-HG; dark fic; starts at the end of Hermione's fifth year in Hogwarts. Spoilers for ALL HP books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s note:** This story starts at the end of Hermione’s fifth year. Up until book 5, it is canon compliant with a few additions Jo “forgot” to tell us about. After that … I make no promises. XD
> 
> For those of you not into BDSM, I recommend reading the version of this story without those scenes. 
> 
> Banner by the lovely Dream a dream123.

[](http://s1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/daxodokira/?action=view&current=TheApprentice.jpg)

**The Apprentice**  
  
 **Chapter 1**  
  
You might wonder what a still wounded and feeble appearing Hermione Jean Granger was doing in the middle of the night, sitting on a swing in an abandoned muggle park. You might even question her sanity, and she would agree with you. It was embarrassing enough Dolohov had cursed her into oblivion almost immediately at the ministry - so she had been no help to Harry at all; but now, instead of laying in a comfortable bed being nursed back to health by Poppy Pomfrey, she was out … on her own, in the dead of night, in a small town’s park.  
  
The entire endeavour of sitting here so carelessly reeked of the prospect of death, torture, rape, and other delightful pastime experiences which would ensure she’d never reach the milestone age of seventeen. Hermione felt she might as well attach a bull’s eye to her back, summon the Death Eaters and get her demise over and done with. This was all the fault of bloody Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Yes, she wouldn’t have been a sitting duck right now had he not shown her that blasted scroll, but he had … and the rest was history.  
  
It had started that morning at twelve Grimmauld Place almost a year ago. She was sitting at the breakfast table bandaging her arms and hands, while watching Ron being pecked to death by Hedwig too. The owl, determined to get them to write back to Harry, had given up on “swaying” Hermione and was busy “convincing” Ron, who was flailing his arms through the air in an attempt to evade the rather sharp beak. He failed miserably and made quite a scene while doing so.  
  
In the hullabaloo that followed Dumbledore took Hermione apart from the others and handed her a scroll to read. He told her not to tell a soul about it and to follow the instructions if she was interested. How could someone not be? You don’t often get a list of famous wizarding names throughout history without any explanation whatsoever.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes to the dark sky. Helga Hufflepuff, Merlin, Isis, Morgana, Nicolas Flamel, Ignotus Peverell, and those were just a few of the names on the list that struck her fancy. She should have tossed that darn list into the nearest bin possible; but  _nooooo_ , she had to be curious. HA! Now she knew her Animagus form would have a set of whiskers for sure. Stupid Dumbledore and his ridiculous list.  
  
The list was titled Keepers of…, and then, there was a huge smut on the parchment. Hermione had tried a thousand cleansing, highlighting, and Merlin knows what kind of charms to bring out the name underneath the smut. In the end she had a parchment without a smut, but it also had a huge hole instead of that. She had turned quite red when Dumbledore requested it back in front of a group of twelve other people who stood unidentifiable in a blurred mist.  
  
However, her headmaster merely chuckled and when he moved back to his spot in the group, he shoved the parchment in one of the other’s hands with a broad grin, pointing to the hole. Hermione was certain his eyes were twinkling even more so as they normally did. He was definitely enjoying himself for some inexplicable reason.  
  
To this day Hermione felt it had been surreal. She was standing in some damp, obscure place in the heart of London being questioned by people she didn’t know, who told her she apparently wanted to become something she had no idea what it entailed; an apprentice? Apprentice to whom and to what end?  
  
They didn’t supply her with the answer.  
  
After being drilled for hours, they made her wait in a cold chamber; but in the end the happy news was they had accepted her as a possible candidate for the open Keeper position. Keeper of who, what, where, why?  
  
Yeah, you guessed right, they didn’t say.  
  
Still, she trusted Dumbledore,  _then_ . So she continued, certain the answer would be supplied some day. It was the start of a series of annoying tests she sailed through without effort and just before the end of her fifth year at Hogwarts, Hermione heard she was one of the three remaining candidates to go through to the final stages of enlightenment. Yeah, she felt really enlightened already – so much knowledge about nothing at all did that to a human being.  
  
She snorted and glanced at her watch. It was past three a.m. already. Hermione was supposed to secretly meet the person she would become an apprentice to, but her “guide”, as they had strangely called it, was late for their appointment.  
  
However, that didn’t matter; she had nothing better to do than sit on a swing in the middle of the night, unprotected, anyway. It was not like she was hurt and in need of medical attention or whatever. And everybody knew how much Lord Voldemort and his cronies loved Muggle-borns who allied themselves with Harry Potter, so she was perfectly safe.  
  
Yeah, she had only jumped up with her wand raised a zillion times now; her other hand clutching to her aging chest. Constant vigilance became her motto too. Thus far she had hexed two crows, a stray pigeon, a dribbling mouse, and a hooting owl; all very dangerous, life-threatening animals. Hermione was beginning to understand the origin of Moody’s paranoia – total darkness in combination with being struck down in combat in the past had that effect on you. A scratching noise sounded behind her, and without thinking, Hermione swirled her wand in that direction.  
  
‘Diffindo!’  
  
A cat yowled loudly and rushed away limping. Hermione sighed and shook her head. Five more minutes, that was how long she would wait and not a second more. If he or she wasn’t here by then, Dumbledore could stuff his Keeper thing in a very dark place. She wasn’t about to turn suicidal; not even to show everyone she was the best, at everything. There had been fourteen candidates at the start, and now, there were only two more to beat. She just had to win; she couldn’t fail. If only to show Professor Dumbledore he had been right in picking her. It had nothing to do with the fact she had identified Draco Malfoy as one of the other remaining candidates and couldn’t stand the thought of him beating her to something. No, it definitely had not something to do with that.  
  
Crack. A whirl of black robes apparated before her.  
  
Yeah, as she said before, she was perfectly safe indeed.  
  
Because, to Hermione’s horror, her paranoia had turned reality. Just a few steps away from her, Lord Voldemort had appeared. She cast a curse, flung to her feet and almost blacked out completely from the lack of oxygen due to her malfunctioning ribcage. Blasted Dolohov. While she searched the grounds for her Portkey with her eyes, she kept casting curse after curse in vain. She could hear the gong-like sounds of the impacts on his shield. Where was that damned Portkey?  
  
‘Reducto!’ Hermione cast, and she saw the utter bored look in Lord Voldemort’s eyes as he diverted her curse lazily.  
  
Panicking, she stumbled backwards while tossing anything that came to mind at him; another volley of spells struck his silvery shield, but he was merely looking at her silently. Why wasn’t he cursing her? Not that she was complaining… But it was unusual at least.  
  
‘Accio Portkey!’ Hermione tried.  
  
Nothing came. It was when she saw  _he_  was holding it. Lord Voldemort whipped his wand around.  
  
‘Protego!’ Hermione yelled, frightened; and she closed her eyes praying her shield would hold as she saw the jet of light speed towards her.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
Her wand flew from her hand and Hermione crashed to the grounds unable to move. As she impacted with the wet pavement, she felt her ribs were in firm disagreement with this harsh treatment so shortly after being crushed in the Department of Mysteries. Her chest cracked, and this time, she tasted blood in her mouth. Dying didn’t feel too bad, Hermione decided, while her lungs failed to take in any air; it was just the view that needed some improvement – for she was now looking straight at the tall figure of the Dark Lord. He was twirling her wand around in his long slender fingers, while smirking down at her condescendingly.  
  
‘If you really want to duel me, little girl, you need to improve your skills so astronomically that I feel confident in stating you are reaching for an impossible goal. However, since I am…,’ he turned silent and narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Oh, for Salazar’s sake,’ he grumbled.  
  
The last things Hermione noticed, before the world turned black around her, were a pair of arms that lifted her and a sensation of being crushed together to fit through a tiny keyhole.  
  
\---  
  
When she woke, her first thoughts were that it all had been a bad dream; a nightmare. She could feel the soft sheets of the bed in the infirmary that embraced her fully healed body and she never felt better in her life, until she sat up … and stared straight into the face nobody wants to see after a good night’s rest. Hermione blinked, but that didn’t make the Dark Lord go away.  
  
Interesting infirmary, it has the most caring staff in Britain, entered her mind sardonically.  
  
‘Good, you are finally awake. I really don’t have time to waste on feeble, incompetent Mudbloods; here is your assignment.’ He tossed her an envelope.  
  
Dumbfounded, Hermione stared at the envelope and then back up at Lord Voldemort. ‘I am not one of your servants,’ she hissed back without thinking – after which she wanted to bite her tongue and make the bed swallow her and her blabbermouth whole.  
  
An exasperated sigh, however, was the only response. ‘Do I have to paint it all out for you, Granger, or are you capable of coming up with an intelligent thought of your own instead of paraphrasing everything from the books you read?’  
  
She had no idea what he was talking about.  
  
‘That is your assignment, apprentice,’ the Dark Lord said sweetly, ‘and supposedly I am to function as your guide. Feel free NOT to bother me with your insipid questions.’  
  
Hermione merely gaped at him. He was her guide; he? The Dark Lord was one of the Keepers of whatever? And they chose him to help her? Which idiot had thought that was a good idea? Now, she had to figure out everything on her own, and he was sure to make it even harder for her to succeed.  
  
‘Your Portkey is over there.’ Lord Voldemort pointed to the dresser. ‘I have sent an owl to the old coot so he is aware you will return later than expected. I’m sure he will have made up a perfectly fine excuse for your absence. Remember, you are not permitted to convey any secrets of the Keepers to the outside world. Adios.’  
  
The walls trembled when the door flew shut behind him. Stunned, Hermione looked at the door. This wasn’t happening. Fate couldn’t possibly be this cruel.  
  
Slowly, she moved to the edge of the bed, folded the envelope to fit into her skirt’s pocket and put on her shoes. She was still dressed in the clothes she had on yesterday; but they were perfectly clean and appeared pressed, while she had slept in them. Her coat was hanging over a comfortable chair beside the dresser. She pulled it on and felt her wand in its right-hand pocket with a sting of relief. She was  _so_  out of here.  
  
Her hand moved to the Portkey when she saw the book that lay beside it on the dresser, “The Reality of Magic”. It was an impossibly rare book and priceless. She had seen many references to it in other books and had been dying to read it. Alas, the Hogwarts library had no copy; Flourish & Blotts had been unable to obtain one for her, and she was not a thief.   
  
Her eyes darted to the door, while her hand kept hovering indecisively between the two items. Perhaps … she could lend it? It wasn’t stealing if she planned to give it back, was it? Oh what the hell, he was hardly in a position to send the Aurors after her. Hermione grabbed the book, tucked it in her skirt and pulled her shirt over it. Swiftly, she grabbed the Portkey and felt the familiar tuck at her navel.  
  
‘Oophftt,’ she cried as she smashed over an armchair and tumbled to the floor of the Head’s Office.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Professor Dumbledore said; he rushed toward her and helped her up. ‘I trust you are fine, Miss Granger?’  
  
‘Fine, fine?’ Hermione repeated. ‘You are asking if I am fine? My guide is…’  
  
A spell flew around them and Hermione just barely noticed Professor Dumbledore pocketing his wand again.  
  
‘The walls have ears in my office, Miss Granger,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I believe you are still aware of your magical confidentiality agreement.’  
  
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on land. Magical confidentiality agreement? When the Dark Lord was her guide? Dumbledore was going to hold her to  _that_ ? He had to be kidding.  
  
‘Good, you are aware of the delicacy of your situation.’  
  
No, that she failed to notice. It had never crossed her mind once that Lord Voldemort could use her to get to Harry. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  
  
‘For now, we can talk briefly, because I muffled our speech. Naturally, I know who your guide is,’ Dumbledore added calmly. ‘It is regrettable but not unexpected. I was afraid it would turn out to be him beforehand, but there is nothing we can do to alter that. You’ll just have to make the best of this situation.’  
  
‘The best of this situation?’ Hermione repeated, outraged. ‘The best!’  
  
‘Yes,’ Dumbledore said, unruffled. ‘Tom is one of the best Keepers there is. His knowledge of our uhm… “order” is vast. Many would die to be his apprentice.’  
  
Hermione thought  _that_  was not such a hypothetical scenario at all.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at her. ‘A Keeper is not allowed to kill his apprentice, Hermione. The penalty that would be bestowed upon him should you die in his care is so severe he’ll avoid it at any cost. Why else do you think he saved your life tonight? As long as you are his apprentice you will be the safest individual during this war, and he has to guide you. It’s not optional.’  
  
‘He isn’t going to guide me anywhere but to failure,’ Hermione resigned. ‘I am a Muggle-born witch and we all know how he feels about that.’  
  
‘Oh well, I am sure you can convince him,’ Dumbledore said with infuriating twinkling eyes.  
  
‘That’ll be the day,’ Hermione muttered softly. She pulled the unopened envelope with her assignment from her pocket and showed it to Dumbledore. ‘He said “Feel free not to bother me with your insipid questions”.’  
  
‘Did he now?’ Dumbledore chuckled.  
  
‘Yes,’ Hermione said, somewhat irritated. ‘Does that sound like he is going to help me succeed?’  
  
Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders. ‘The assignments are for the apprentices to work out, not the Keepers. The troubles you find on your path to the knowledge are for you to solve.’  
  
Hermione bit her lip. She had hoped Dumbledore would help her get another “guide”, but it was obviously not going to happen. She was screwed.  
  
‘I trust Tom healed your wounds fully?’ Dumbledore inquired.  
  
Hermione nodded silently.  
  
‘I thought he might. I told the others you went to a foreign Healer who had to remain anonymous for security reasons.’  
  
‘In the middle of the night, Sir?’  
  
‘It wasn’t in the middle of the night where he lived,’ Dumbledore explained, amused. ‘If anybody asks, keep your explanations short and simple. You are far less likely to contradict yourself if you don’t tell too much and keep it boring.’  
  
‘So, others will not drill me for more information,’ Hermione said knowingly.  
  
‘Indeed,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Now, you’d best start with your assignment, Hermione, you have till September to find the answers.’  
  
‘I know, thank you Sir.’ For nothing, she added in her mind while she moved to the door.  
  
‘Don’t forget your book,’ Dumbledore said.  
  
Hermione froze on the spot. Oh darn, Merlin’s pants, why did she never have any luck? Totally red in the face, she turned around and walked to Professor Dumbledore who held out “The Reality of Magic”.  
  
‘The Reality of Magic is a very intriguing theory, especially to those who can grasp the finer details of its inner workings,’ Professor Dumbledore commented, as she accepted it.  
  
‘I am just borrowing it,’ Hermione whispered apologetically.  
  
‘I did not doubt it for a second, Miss Granger.’  
  
Embarrassed, Hermione rushed out of the office quickly. Fortunately, everyone else was already in class or still in the infirmary like Ron and the others, so Hermione managed to get into her dormitory undisturbed. She placed the nicked book in her warded nightstand and sat down on the bed as she opened the envelope. She would do this on her own. She was not the smartest witch of her age for nothing; she didn’t require any help from anyone.  
  
 _You have till October seventeenth to learn all the methods of Magical Cast Control. A thorough essay (length is at your discretion) on the matter is required to be handed in a month before that date. Said essay will have to show your opinion as well as be an evidence based study on Controlled Casting. An oral interview will be conducted in which you are to validate your opinions. At the practical you will show your personal capability to bring theory to practise by showing us how to undo an already cast spell or charm before it comes to completion._  
  
But that was impossible! Once a spell was cast, it was out there, moving forward on its own momentum. Hermione stared at the last sentence over and over again in bafflement. Why would they give an impossible task? It was impossible, wasn’t it? She had never heard of anyone undoing a spell after it was cast before.  
  
One thing, however, was certain. She didn’t need any help at all. With a defeated sigh, Hermione slumped down on the bed. A miracle had happened; Hermione Jean Granger didn’t feel like going to class.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Apprentice**

**Chapter Two**

Ticktack, ticktack – the clock counted. Ticktack, ticktack – the sound was inevitably present in his mind. Ticktack – it chimed through the otherwise silent study. The book was unable to distract him fully, for the theory inside was mind-boggling flawed. Ticktack – he couldn't concentrate due to the sound, a reminiscence of time passing: cruelly, effortlessly, without mercy. Ticktack.

His wand flashed, seemingly out of nowhere. Without taking his eyes of the page, he whipped it towards the clock on the wall. 'Confringo!'

A loud blast and then … a delicious silence. No more reminders to his mortality, to aging. Subconsciously, he moved his wand back inside his robes and flipped another page.

'Temper, temper,' a familiar voice mocked in an admonishing tone.

Lord Voldemort closed his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Not him again. He definitely needed to find a way around that despicable problem that Keepers couldn't kill each other. Once he had done that, he would wipe them all out - the entire Council of Fourteen (currently, one member short, but always a sandwich short of a picnic in his book). If he had known in advance before joining it was such a disgustingly happy, democratically organised bunch of morons, he would have passed on the "honour" and given his seat to the next fool. But  _nooooo_ , he had to be curious. HA! If he didn't know better, he would have thought his Animagus form had a tail and could mate with the most irritatingly rule-obeying Gryffindor Head Girl he ever had the misfortune to be a Prefect under.

'Aren't you going to offer me a seat?' Gellert Grindelwald asked joyously, taking a porcelain figurine of the mantel above the hearth.

'It's not my seat to offer,' Voldemort responded crafty.

'Since when has that stopped you?' Gellert replied, while raising an intrigued eyebrow at the peacock feathers on the back of the figurine.

'What are you doing here?'

'I got bored in Nurmengard and thought I'd come check on the situation with the Mudblood.' He shook his head after taking one last bemused look at the figurine and placed it back.

'I really don't need any assistance from losers, Gellert. The Mudblood will be dealt with. She won't be in the running much longer.'

'Umm…,' Gellert mumbled contemplatively. 'I'd say you're underestimating the situation.'

'Thanks for the info; goodbye.' Lord Voldemort waved dismissively.

'It's imperative our side gets the upper hand again in the Council and this is the best opportunity there has been in centuries.'

'There is no  _our_.'

'The dark, my man, the dark. We could finally gain the advantage. Think of all the things we could achieve.'

Lord Voldemort knew it would be painstakingly obvious to Grindelwald that he still was not seeing the necessity of a  _we_ in this equation. But he was pretty sure Gellert was using the term loosely himself too, so it didn't bother him in the least. He would be delighted to kick  _we_  (as in everybody else but me) out of the Council permanently, once he gained the power to do so.

'Too bad you picked a Malfoy as your candidate then,' Voldemort mocked. 'I'd say Li Mei has chosen a winner. So, the Council will remain balanced.'

'It wouldn't have been if you had even taken the slightest effort to find a worthy dark candidate,' Gellert hissed. 'My choices are extremely limited from inside the walls of Nurmengard.'

'Yes, because you spend so much time there,' Voldemort sneered.

'I can only go outside on Keeper business and you know that.'

'Then, it is most fortunate for you that you have so much Keeper business to attend to. It can easily be changed.'

'Is that a threat?'

'If you wish it to be, Gellert. Personally, I'd call it a promise. Besides, I have better things to do than scout the world for some other idiot who is deemed a genius because he pronounced a syllable of a spell correctly. All hail to join the Council if you can read the alphabet in the proper order.' His scolding laugh embedded the study.

Gellert Grindelwald narrowed his eyes in irritation. 'If you are not taking the powers seriously, you are-'

'Oh, I take the powers seriously; it's the people "protecting" them I see no reason to value,' Voldemort interrupted, snapping his book shut and rising from the chair. He walked to the shelves and lifted another book before he stalked back to his chair, sat down and continued to read like nobody was there in the first place.

'You are no fun,' Gellert sighed.

'Then, why don't you go and annoy your old buddy Albus?' Voldemort suggested.

'I already did – I made him a guide to Draco.'

Voldemort looked up from his book and smirked. 'Why, thank you, I'll be sure to use that.'

'Thought you might. Though I think Albus will see it coming a mile away. He is not a ministerial moron,' Gellert yawned.

'Tired? I thought Albus was … umm… more fun?'

'Oh definitely,' Gellert agreed immediately. 'You're boring. You know, this is the dark side – we're supposed to have fun and cookies; but all you do is read and look like … well, whatever it is you call that look.'

'Have you checked yourself in any mirrors lately?'

'I'm in prison, what's your excuse?'

Lord Voldemort lifted his head from the book with a smirk. 'I don't care. Good-looks are hardly important.'

'Right,' Gellert said disbelievingly. 'The excuse of ugly people. It's not what's on the outside but what's on the inside that matters,' he mocked. 'So, which Dark Glamour Curse backfired on your nose? And did you try to remove your pimples and made your skin colour morph into a ghost's twin instead? No-no, I know… you went for the Snow-White Perfect Skin Charm and mispronounced the uoyia in Lyiuoyia. It's been known to happen.' He roared even louder than before.

Lord Voldemort merely glanced condescendingly and tried to read on.

'Maybe you should let your apprentice research the matter for you,' Grindelwald jeered.

He snapped his book shut again. 'Do you have a good reason to still be here, Gellert?'

'I already said why I was here. I am concerned about this situation with the Granger girl. Albus has an excellent track record in picking candidates who make it to the end. Three of his protégés have become Keepers, which is more than any other Keeper has ever achieved. I do not want another one of his choices to soil our council and you are underestimating the gravity of this situation.'

'Gravity,' Voldemort snorted. 'I already told you there is no situation and it certainly has no gravity to it. The girl won't be coming back for assistance and she will fail this assignment fully.'

'You're supposed to guide her. The others will –'

'Do nothing,' Voldemort finished smugly. 'I have met the requirements of guide perfectly. I can't be held responsible for the ignorance of a little girl in missing the instructions I left behind so she could finish it.'

Gellert frowned, while picking up another preposterous statue. 'That sounds deliciously evil, do tell.'

'I left "The Reality of Magic" on the dresser next to her Portkey home,' Voldemort snickered. 'None of the others can complain I didn't give the girl the opportunity to acquire the required information.'

Gellert gasped. 'Are you crazy? You gave her that book? It contains everything!'

'Everything? Well, to the mentally incapacitated it may seem like everything,' Voldemort mused. 'But you're not listening. I didn't give her the book. It was just there in plain sight.'

'She left it behind?' Grindelwald grinned.

'Nobody dares to steal from Lord Voldemort.'

'Albus will be annoyed when he hears this. I am going to enjoy watching his face.'

'Glad to be of assistance. I take it your concerns are over now?'

It remained silent.

'What?' Voldemort mocked. 'Still under the delusion I can't take on a little girl?'

'I just can't help but wonder what Albus is plotting. You know he has to have an ulterior motive to stash this particular girl up with you as a guide.'

Voldemort snorted. 'Probably trying to protect her pitiful muggle life.'

'Maybe…,' Gellert said doubtfully. 'Still, I get the feeling I am missing something. Albus never is that obvious. And, of course, the others are going to complain you didn't instruct the girl to take the book.'

'Ah, but the troubles the apprentice finds on her path to the knowledge are for her to solve,' Voldemort quoted the manifest, mockingly. 'I suppose that means my little barrier to the knowledge was for her to solve, which she wouldn't have.'

'Wouldn't have?' Gellert raised his eyebrows. 'Didn't you check?'

A pair of red eyes glanced over the book, amused. 'She was frightened out of her wit. Do you really think the little Gryffindor would risk my wrath and steal–?'

'Where is this dresser the book was on?' Gellert inquired before placing the bronze statue back with a disgusted wrinkle in his nose. 'Straight people,' he muttered, shivering.

'Down the hall. Second door on your right,' a totally uninterested voice said.

Grindelwald swirled out of the study. A couple of seconds later, loud laughter sounded through the manor. With a smug grin, Gellert returned, leaning his shoulder against the rim of the doorway. 'So, no one dares to steal from Lord Voldemort, eh? You know I am beginning to like the little Mudblood. I may even vote for her, next time.'

Lord Voldemort stared at his smug expression and flew to his feet. 'You're pulling my leg,' he muttered as he passed Grindelwald.

'Albus picked this one for a reason, Tom,' Gellert jeered.

Lord Voldemort froze in front of the already opened door to the guest room. His hand grabbed the door, and with an irritated move, he rammed it shut.

'Yes, I am definitely liking this girl,' Gellert grinned.

Voldemort paced past him. 'What are you grinning about? It's not like Potter's girlfriend will understand the first thing about the text in that book – nobody has, not without help anyway.' And a vicious smile graced his snakelike features.

'Umm… she had a perfect score so far. Not many have achieved that feat before her beside you.'

Suddenly, Grindelwald felt it prudent to leave the Dark Lord's vicinity quickly. After all, he was still lacking a wand, and although he didn't really need it – he wasn't looking forward to duel someone who had one and had the capabilities to actually do some serious damage.

A fragment of a second after his soundless disappearance from the scene, serious damage was inflicted on the wall behind his previous position. The knuckles of Voldemort's wand-hand had turned white and he took a couple of deep breaths to regain control over his temper. Grindelwald's last remark had struck a real nerve.

'Albus Dumbledore,' he snarled to the empty room.  _Albus Dumbledore and his games._

With a flick of his wand, a parchment appeared in his hand. A parchment Dumbledore had found amusing to shove into his hand almost a year ago. Expressionless, he glared at the hole Hermione Granger had punched into the indestructible charmed list. There were thirteen of these ancient parchments, and now, two of them had a hole in it. He still remembered like it happened only yesterday. It was during his fourth year at Hogwarts. After sneaking off, he sat in some ghastly stinking hole being drilled by morons about idiotic subjects that had no relevance whatsoever to anything magically important. It was when he recognised the insipid voice of his Transfiguration Professor.

' _Only a seriously prohibited Dark Arts Curse could punch a hole in protected parchment as this, Mr. Riddle. Care to explain how someone your age has not only the knowledge to such a spell but also the lacking morals to use them?'_

He had felt like smashing his head on the nearby table or better yet, smashing Dumbledore's head against it – hard. But he had his spotless reputation to uphold, so he had to file it on his things-I-would-want-for-Christmas list.

' _I wasn't aware mere Cleansing Charms are considered Dark Arts these days,' Tom had responded smoothly._

' _A mere Cleansing Charm cannot achieve this feat. Not a single soul in history has been able to damage this document.'_

_Tom had shrugged carelessly. 'Perhaps it was the last straw then?'_

' _Perhaps…,' Dumbledore had repeated before another robed figure began boosting about the magical prowess needed to achieve the hole._

It had strengthened his resolve to stay, knowing Dumbledore didn't want him there. Even though he had felt like leaving instantaneously upon recognising the obnoxious man, no matter how curious he was to what these Keepers of whatever were holding secretly. Having to listen to Dumbledore in class was more than enough to fry every single one of his brain-cells in a torturous slow pace, thank you very much. He didn't see any reason to expand on that experience, unless he wanted to start a candy-shop, which he had no ambition to do so. However, the experience of seeing Dumbledore lose was always a pleasurable one, so he had stayed and made sure – by all means at his disposal – he was the last man standing. It hadn't been hard. The word competition was laughable; past, present and future. And no stinking Mudblood was going to mirror his impeccable performance.

Swiftly, Lord Voldemort summoned an owl and started writing. When he was done with his letter, he closed the envelope with a wave of his wand. Satisfied, he grinned at the innocently appearing "Hermione Jean Granger". The girl would regret thwarting him, severely. After that was done, he glanced around the room – he didn't feel like reading anymore. Perhaps he could torment the Malfoys some more? Maybe Nagini would enjoy a nice peacock? But it was no fun without Lucius there; he didn't think Narcissa cared much about the birds. Still, he wasn't bailing the morons out this time. If they were unable to leave without the Dementors there, they could rot in Azkaban for all he cared – which was extremely little in case you were wondering.

A whole year wasted. He could have just walked into the Ministry of Magic himself straight away, but he had thought it prudent to keep a low profile, to rebuild his forces in secret. It had worked splendidly, until he saw through Potter's mind they were blowing it. He knew when he went, it was a mistake to go. Fudge would have stayed in denial about his return forever without seeing the very proof of his existence. But his temper got the better of him; he felt like cursing some of his insipid followers into oblivion. Six bleeding teenagers and they couldn't obtain one tiny orb without smashing it to pieces.

Now, he had to find a way to get his hands on the fortune-teller herself. He had thought Umbridge was a godsend gift when she sacked Trelawney (he already had Hogwarts under such close surveillance he was sure the Seer wouldn't have got past them), but Dumbledore had made sure his precious teacher remained unreachable. If only Snape had an ounce of charm, he could have the Potions Master lure the broad far enough away from the Hogwarts wards without rising suspicions. Alas, the man was incapable of emanating anything but gloom and doom, and … the order did arrive far too fast at the ministry.

Thoughtfully, Lord Voldemort leaned back in his chair and tapped the table with his fingers. Still, the rat had not found anything out of the ordinary with Snape's behaviour,  _yet_. Everything was always perfectly explainable.

He growled.  _Too perfectly_.

What was the point of having someone spy on another when they found nothing? Useless, the lot of them, utterly useless. Perhaps Wormtail needed to be a bit more "motivated" to do his job properly?

Yesss, finally something to do.

And on that note, the Dark Lord disapparated.

xxx

The soft swoosh of fabric was all that alerted Albus Dumbledore to his presence, even though a lot of magic was involved in his transportation over there and into preventing others to bear witness to his presence. But his style of magic was profoundly known by its stealthy quality – impossible to detect until it was too late. People who knew him had always claimed him to be jubilant, cheerful and a rather loud and outgoing personality. His magic, on the other hand, was quite the opposite: dark, silent and lethal.

Drawing his attention away from the stack of papers on his desk, Dumbledore glanced over his half-moon spectacles and sighed. 'You are only allowed to leave Nurmengard on Keeper-related business, Gellert.'

'Then, this must be a Keeper-related visit,' Gellert Grindelwald responded joyously, picking up one of the whirling trinkets on Dumbledore's desk and examining it thoroughly.

'I am waiting…,' Dumbledore said, while turning over the parchment at the top of the pile inconspicuously.

'How is my protégé doing?'

'You didn't come here to ask about Draco Malfoy's progress on the assignment.'

'I didn't?' Gellert asked in faux amazement. 'I was sure I was. Oh well, if you don't want to tell me…' He shrugged and planted his behind on the desk casually.

'I don't.'

'Then, how is your protégé doing?'

'Ah, I knew you were here to ask about Hermione Granger.'

'Did you now? Well, I suppose I am a bit easy to read these days. So, tell me, is the little Mu-' he halted when he saw Dumbledore's eyes darkening and changed his choice of words rapidly, '-girl happy with the guide you chose for her?'

Dumbledore folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. 'Gellert, don't you have some other place to be?'

'Nobody wants me around anymore,' Gellert said with a mock pout. 'I gotta say I was quite amazed – not nearly as much as  _He_ was though, but still amazed – when you chose Lord Voldemort to be her guide. Isn't she bosom-buddies with that boy wonder of yours? You know the one with the big red dot on his back, screaming my last breaths are numbered? What was his name again? Otter, Dotter, Nutter?'

'Potter,' Dumbledore said calmly. 'And yes, Hermione and Harry are best friends. But I fail to see why that should mean she shouldn't get the best Keeper to do her apprenticeship with. The Council is neutral after all, and Tom is the best choice for Hermione's capabilities – it's why I picked him.'

'Oh, you were keeping her best interests in mind - I never would have guessed,' Grindelwald jeered, clutching his hands and the silvery trinket in it to his chest.

'Do you mind,' Dumbledore said, nodding to the device in Gellert's hand, 'you're disrupting the alignment.'

'Sorry,' Gellert apologised, placing said item back on the desk and snatching the article at the top of Dumbledore's pile away. 'Horcruxes? Why, Albus, I'd never figured you as the man to turn desperate after reaching a certain age,' he grinned. 'Whatever happened to finding all the Hallows?'

'There is no trace anywhere of the Resurrection Stone,' Dumbledore said casually, while taking the article back from Gellert.

'The Resurrection Stone?' Gellert narrowed his eyes. 'You found the cloak!' he cheered enthusiastically.

'A long time ago,' Albus conceded.

'Amazing,' Gellert mused. 'So close.'

'And yet, so far away,' Dumbledore added, amused by the success of his diversion.

'So, what are you plotting here, Albus?'

Albus blinked. 'Pardon?'

'Come on, you know I love a good scheme, do tell.' Grindelwald rubbed in his hands, excited.

'I have a lot of work to catch up with. If you don't have any real business to inform me about, by all means feel free to leave.'

'Umph, you are no fun at all anymore.' Gellert jumped from the desk with an agility one wouldn't expect from the shaggy worn-out exterior he displayed. 'I'll go bother someone else.'

'You do that,' Dumbledore said, unruffled.

'It was about time you would figure it out though,' Gellert said, as he tapped with his index-finger on the Horcrux' article. 'Maybe I should go bother him? Yes, now there is someone who might be interested to theorise about your motives, too. Maybe Lord Voldemort can tell me what you're plotting.'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'You're reading too much into everything I do.'

'I daresay that is impossible,' Gellert laughed. 'You never told me how the M-Miss Granger felt about your choice.'

'She doesn't know it was mine to make.'

'I know, but shouldn't you tell her that before a certain someone else does.'

'She will understand my decision.'

'Will she now?'

'She is quite safe as his apprentice.'

Gellert snorted. 'Oh yes, not being able to get killed constitutes as safe in any dictionary. The ridiculous rule that a Keeper cannot kill…' He fell silent and his face brightened from the sheer illumination that was visibly travelling across his features. 'Wait a second! Umm, Albus, you wouldn't be under the delusion that… Oh no, not even you would be that-that…'

'That what?'

'That insane!'

'You see insane things all the time, Gellert. I can't say it is helpful to your credibility.'

'Do you really think she will get one Killing Curse of her wand without him noticing?'

Dumbledore glanced at him, considering. 'I have every confidence in Miss Granger's abilities to hold her own,' he responded slowly.

'By Merlin Albus, she is what again … sixteen?'

'And one of the most talented witches – besides you of course – I ever had the fortune to know.'

Gellert grimaced on the jest. 'Funny, for a moment I thought you were trying to get your favourite pupil of the hook by putting his best friend in the line of fire. But I should have known you'd value everyone with the same regard,' he sneered. 'I do wonder how Potter will feel when he figures out you placed her in danger to protect him.'

'Even if Harry was allowed to learn our secrets, there would be nothing to tell. As usual you're seeing ghosts, Gellert; Tom is the best choice for Hermione either way.'

'You thought about all the angles, didn't you?' Gellert stared impressed at his former friend. 'Darn, I wished you would have chosen my side,' he muttered. 'You belong there.'

'We'll see.'

Magic flew around them and just before Gellert left, he grinned. 'You do realise this could blow up in your face tremendously, my old friend.'

'Oh? Care to elaborate?'

'No, not particularly. Do guide my protégé well, I hate to be disappointed.'

'I'll do the best I can to make sure Draco Malfoy rises above the occasion,' Dumbledore said with a half smile and an amused twinkle.

Gellert was already gone before he had a chance to comment on the cryptic response.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh. 'Because I'll be damned before I allow Draco to stay trapped in his father's bad choices,' he added softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Apprentice**

**Chapter three**

Staring at the ceiling, Hermione contemplated what to do. How was she ever going to finish that impossible assignment if Dumbledore wouldn't help her? Because her guide – she used the term loosely and with the proper amount of sarcasm – would probably just make her run circles around the needed information. She knew she would have done in his place. The difference between them being that he would smirk while doing so. All Slytherins smirked. Perhaps it was a requirement to get sorted into that house.

_He has to guide you. It's not optional._

Yeah, right, because it was impossible to get around a stipulation like that. They sure did everything to see to it there were no loopholes at all.

One more week at Hogwarts, it was all she had. Perhaps she should go to the library and research everything on Controlled Casting straight away. Because once the summer holiday started, she'd have no more access to any new wizarding texts at all. Her parents had a huge amount of books, but nothing on the subjects she needed; and at the Burrow to which she was invited… well, need she say more?

Unless? Unless Professor Dumbledore would grant her permission to go to the Hogwarts library in the summer!

Excited, Hermione jumped up. This could be the answer to everything. Surely, he would not deny her the means to complete her mission? Her spirit back up, she grabbed her books and dumped them in her bag to go to class immediately. A groan escaped her when she realised she had Potions now, and it was already one whole hour into the lesson. She was late for Potions. She'd rather go back and ask Voldemort a question about her assignment instead of disrupting Snape's lesson. It would be less hazardous to her health for sure.

So, feeling somewhat guilty about not going to Potions, Hermione decided to visit Ron until Charms started. When she reached the infirmary, she wasn't sorry about her choice. A smile erupted on Ron's face when he saw her.

'Wow, you look great Hermione! That foreign Healer really knows his stu – Oww!' With a pained expression, Ron tried to pull his arm away from the fast grip of the Hogwarts' nurse.

'Sorry,' Poppy Pomfrey mumbled, applying the last bit of ointment on his arm a bit more carefully before walking away with a brief glance toward Hermione. 'Foreign Healers,' she muttered under her breath. 'Pffftt… I know what they say about fast recoveries. Albus better not come complaining about one of his sugar intoxications, because…'

The door slammed shut behind her and the rest of her muttering was drowned out completely.

Ron grinned as Hermione sat down on his bed and handed him a full bag of chocolate frogs. 'She is been like that ever since Dumbledore told her he had sent you abroad to heal. I think she takes it as a personal insult.'

'Oh.'

'But how are you feeling?'

'I am fine.'

'Really?' Ron nudged her in the ribs.

'Eh!' Hermione objected.

'You are better,' he decided. 'Yesterday you couldn't laugh without supporting your chest with one of your hands. So, who is this super Healer of yours? I could use a consult.'

Hermione blushed. 'I don't know – I didn't get his name.'

Ron raised his eyebrows.

'I couldn't understand a single word he was saying,' Hermione mumbled apologetically.

'Didn't he speak English?'

'He tried,' Hermione said. 'It didn't help.'

Ron roared with laughter. 'That bad, eh.'

'You could say that,' Hermione said, relieved her lame excuse was working.

'Well, I am glad you went. At least now, I will be getting all the attention and candy,' Ron said, grinning in anticipation.

'Yes, I am sure attention and candy weigh up to getting scarred by thoughts any day.'

'Indeed, they do. Tell Neville I am running low on Liquorice Wands, will you? I remember he had a large stack of them in his drawer before we went to London.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I'll try to remember.'

'Speaking of remembering… isn't a Prefect supposed to go to class?' Ron asked, wiggling his eyebrows deviously.

A sudden heat-wave made its way to her face, turning her into the equivalent of a very ripe tomato.

Ron laughed. 'Can't blame you for skipping Snape. I hope I can stay in the infirmary for the remainder of this entire year. That way I never have to see his greasy head again.'

'Potions is an important subject, Ron.'

'Not for those of us who are dropping it.' Ron dreamily stared at the ceiling, envisioning next year's happy Snapeless school-life.

'You can't become an Auror without Potions.'

'Give it a rest, Hermione. You and I both know I'll never get an O for my Potions' O.W.L., so there is no point in pretending the option is still there.'

Hermione fell silent, knowing he was right. It would cause Snape personal injury to give her an O. He wasn't bound to make exceptions on his N.E.W.T.-rule for others – especially not for Gryffindors befriended with Harry Potter.

'But eh, I am sure you have two more Snape-filled years ahead of you!' Ron added teasingly. 'That's the price you pay for being an overachiever: extra hours with the bat.'

'Ron, he is on our-'

'Did you see they moved Umbridge to the back of the infirmary?' Ron interrupted Hermione before she could finish her reprimand.

Hermione swung her head around, surprised. 'Why?'

Ron leaned forward. 'She was getting sicker suddenly. Apparently, she received a fake letter from someone posing as the minister this morning and when she tried to reply to it by using the quill that was sent along with it, she broke out in hysterics.'

Hermione stretched out her neck to see if she could look beyond the closed curtains in the back.

'I don't know what is wrong with her though. Poppy won't say,' Ron said, disappointed. 'And they have no idea who sent the quill, so I can't hero-worship him or her either.'

'Whatever it is she has, I hope it hurts like hell,' Hermione added vengefully.

'From the fit she was having, I'd say it did.'

They both relished on that thought silently, while eating another chocolate frog.

'Have you seen Harry this morning?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, briefly before breakfast.'

'And?' Hermione insisted.

'Still the same, not talking and taking ALL the blame. But he'll get around, just give him time.'

'He needs to talk about Sirius.'

'When he is ready. You can't force it out of him,' Ron said, unwrapping another box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

'Can't I?' Hermione's jaw was set.

'No, Hermione, please don't ask him about Sirius. Trust me; it will not do you or him any good.'

Hermione looked out the window. 'I've got to go to Charms.'

'Already?' asked Ron, trying to hide his disappointment.

'I wish you could come too,' said Hermione, feeling guilty.

'Not me,' said Ron, pretending to be brave. 'I've Owled Fred and George for some stuff, so I can stretch this till the end-of-term leaving feast.'

Hermione smiled and shook her head. 'You are relentless. See you, Ron.'

'Bye!' Ron waved cheerfully; but as Hermione left the infirmary in perfect health, he looked rather sad at the empty infirmary and his still scarred arms.

xxx

All the Gryffindors swarmed around her in the Charms' classroom, asking questions and admiring Hermione's speedy recovery. She ditched them rather easily by starting a very lengthy explanation about the foreign Healer's research, making them regret asking her quickly. None of them could follow a word she was saying and when she was finished, they all nodded as if they understood; glad the lecture was done with. Draco made a disparaging comment across the room, which made Hermione smile rather evilly. As everyone took their seats upon Flitwick's arrival, Hermione casually walked past Draco's table. It was an opportunity too good to miss.

'I'll have to make sure to pass the comment along, ferret,' she whispered. 'I wonder how the Healer,' she paused there, tilting her head ever so slightly in amusement, 'in question will feel about it.'

She walked on rather pleased with herself, even more so when she saw the look Draco was giving her. He suddenly seemed unnerved.

She smirked at him. Perhaps the trade was contagious.

Draco turned back towards Flitwick abruptly, shaking his head. No way, no way. However, the Keepers did seem to have a somewhat sadistic sense of humour; they had placed him in Dumbledore's care after all. That was turning out to be every bit of the disaster as he had envisioned it to be when he saw Dumbledore apparate at his meeting point.

Draco's face darkened. All the lectures and stupid remarks that made no sense at all. The man couldn't stay on topic for a second. It was driving him crazy already, and he'd only been to one meeting. He groaned and banged his head on the table.

Still, if Granger had  _Him_ … He snorted and turned around to glance at her gleefully.

Hermione gave him a gleeful smile back.

Not what he expected. Why was the Mudblood happy about her guide? He wouldn't have been. It was bad enough the creep was staying at his house. He had no idea how to get through the summer holiday unscathed; and he had to go home. His mother's latest letter was filled with worry about that fact. Apparently, the Dark Lord had insisted upon his presence.

Draco shivered.

'Because we are reaching the holidays and we've covered the obliged curriculum, why don't you tell me what subjects you want to cover during these last lessons,' said Flitwick.

Draco didn't register the question; he was too busy with his problems. He was certain Granger had to be messing with his mind. She didn't have  _Him_. She wouldn't be smiling if she did. No, he was stuck in Hell with Dumbles, while she probably had the best guide in the book. Dumbledore always made sure his Gryffindor favourites were well-taken care of.

'… Controlled Casting?' Draco heard Granger say. His head swivelled up.

'Hmmm… well, er – it is an interesting subject, no doubt,' Flitwick started, 'but a bit too advan-'

'Controlled Casting would be very much appreciated, Sir,' Draco added quickly. Damn, he had to pay attention. Flitwick was bound to be more helpful than the old coot. He could actually explain something rationally.

Silence filled the classroom. Nobody had ever heard Draco Malfoy support anything Hermione Granger suggested. Hermione and Draco both looked at Professor Flitwick rather hopefully.

'Oh, er…I-I,' Flitwick stuttered, glancing between the two, noticing the odd occurrence.

'Come on,' Hermione thought desperately, 'this ought to do it. I need the information.'

Draco kept his fingers crossed. It bugged him that Granger would get the info too, but not enough to let the opportunity slip. Anything to stay away from his guide – and he used the term loosely and with the proper amount of sarcasm.

'I guess, since it is the end of the year.' Flitwick waved his wand and placed the subject on the blackboard.

Draco let out a breath in relief. Thank Merlin; he was going to get the information without having to dance through a million hoops for it.

'What's wrong with you?' whispered Crabbe. 'Agreeing with filth?'

'I have my reasons,' Draco replied smoothly. 'None of which I care to explain to boneheads like you,' he added, upon noticing Crabbe was about to open his mouth again.

Crabbe raised his eyebrows at Goyle, who shrugged back in response.

'Never heard Malfoy agree with you before,' Neville said, stunned.

Hermione shrugged. It bugged her that Malfoy would get the info too, but she had no time to lose. Besides the day she couldn't outshine a Malfoy… She snorted.

Professor Flitwick noted some other subjects on the blackboard, but eventually started his lesson on Controlled Casting. Draco and Hermione bombarded him with questions, making Professor Flitwick more and more enthusiastic about explaining the phenomenon and the rest of the class more and more asleep. Hermione practically jumped in her seat with excitement when Professor Flitwick kept referring to "The Reality of Magic" as a prominent textbook on the matter. Her quill could barely keep up with all the information Flitwick was providing her with.

'But this theory would mean if you cast a charm, there is no way of undoing it,' Draco stated, disappointed.

'Indeed, it is not possible to do such a thing,' Flitwick replied.

'I – er – read somewhere it is possible,' Hermione intervened.

'Yes, well, there is a theory, but no one has ever been able to put it to practise.'

Hermione frowned.  _No one?_

'Whose theory would that be, Sir?' Draco asked.

'McMullen's Theory of Everything; but it's highly speculative and more along the line of Arithmancy than Charms.'

'It is about casting, isn't it?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, but Charms is a part of casting that contains the possible; the alterations of such which exist.'

'Isn't stopping a spell you have cast not a Charm to begin with?' continued Hermione.

'In a matter of speaking,' Flitwick conceded. 'You could support a hypothesis of such.'

'Then it would be a Charm you cast upon your original spell?' Draco said, excited.

'No, Mr Mafoy, one would not have the time. Your original spell would reach its destination and have its impact, because your Charm would carry the same speed.'

'So, if you vary speeds in your casting…,' Hermione trailed off.

'Not possible. Every single individual has a certain degree of power and that degree of power determines the speed of your spell. One cannot influence this, Basic Law of Magic no. three.'

'If not speed than how?' asked Draco, scratching the suggestion on his parchment.

'Like I said, this is more Arithmancy than Charms; you need to ask Professor Vector about it.'

'Surely, you know,' pushed Draco, 'I mean you are the best teacher we have. You have so much experience.'

'Well,' Professor Flitwick squeaked, pleased. 'I do know that McMullen's theory contains the notion of using the magical power of the individual to stop the spell he or she cast. It's all about reversing the polarity of once magic. But like I said, this is much more Professor Vector's field. She would be able to explain it much better than I can.'

Reversing the polarity. Hermione frowned. How did you know which polarity your magic had to begin with? It sounded a bit like Muggle Physics. Magnets, fields and electricity flooded her mind. She had to check her parents' university books as soon as she got home, and she had to get her hands on the text in which McMullen's theory was written. Preferably before Malfoy got it.

'In what Arithmancy book is McMullen's theory published?' Draco asked.

'The Book of All.'

Hermione groaned. Perhaps the National Museum of Egypt would lend it to a minor. Yeah, right.

'A few obscure Dark Arts texts,' Flitwick continued.

Crap. She hoped none of those would be present in the Malfoy library. She could almost feel Draco smirking at his victory if they were. Great, terrific, obscure Dark Arts texts - perhaps her "guide" had them and would be willing to share. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

'And, of course, "The Reality of Magic" uses an entire chapter to investigate McMullen's theory to the letter,' Flitwick ended, making Hermione's day.

See, living a life of crime does pay off. If she had even an ounce of doubt about her choice to nick the book from Lord Voldemort, this certainly took it all away. She would finish this assignment; she wouldn't need any help; and she would beat Draco Malfoy - all in a day's work.

The bell rang, ending the insightful lesson with Flitwick giving twenty points to Slytherin and Gryffindor. But Hermione couldn't wait for all the lessons of the day to be over with, so she could start reading.

Unfortunately, Snape was substituting for Umbridge in DADA, so the Gryffindor points were gone the moment he saw her. He also gave her a lengthy Potions' assignment, because she missed his "invaluable" lesson and he wouldn't want her to get behind. Sure, Snape the concerned, beneficent teacher.

Professor Snape's taunts didn't phase her one bit this time, because she had The Book, the answers to the Keepers' issue. Yeah, it was a good day. Especially after she spoke privately to Professor Vector after dinner and learned a thing or two more about the Arithmancy aspects of the subject. It was great.

xxx

It was maddening,  _maddening!_ After both Professors Flitwick and Vector had boomed about the inherent quality of the wretched book, Hermione could not see it. She read it cover to cover and back again; and still, it made no sense to her.

'Arghh!' she yelled in frustration.

'Hermione, something wrong?' Parvati asked sleepily.

'Everything,' Hermione answered furiously. 'This entire book makes no sense at all.'

'Oh,' Parvati mumbled, 'a book.' She rolled her eyes and turned around on her side to get back to sleep.

'Yeah, a book,' Hermione replied sarcastically, 'or should I say a bunch of non-correlated essays that never take into account anything they stated before.'

'It's four in the morning; it's probably why it isn't making sense. You need to get some sleep.' Parvati yawned.

'It's not lack of sleep. It's lack of coherency.'

'I say,' Lavender whispered, making Parvati giggle.

'Here it goes on and on about the five basic laws of magic, but there is no explanation as to why they are the five basic laws or even why there aren't say four or six. You would not expect an explanation in a Hogwarts text book, since this is higher magic, but this is supposedly the answer to all things magical and they just state it as a given! I want a bloody explanation. And then, if you see these Arithmancy equations…'

'Er… Hermione?' Lavender tried. 'School is almost over.'

'What?' Hermione snapped.

'Some people are trying to sleep,' Parvati hinted.

'Fine, fine! I'll go to the library.' Hermione grabbed her bookbag, stuffed her textbooks and scrolls in it, and paced away.

Parvati and Lavender looked at each other meaningfully. 'She can get really scary,' Lavender said.

'She needs a boyfriend,' Parvati muttered.

'Yeah, that's likely to happen.'

Both of them snorted.

Meanwhile Hermione opened the library with a flick of her wand, raced to the nearest table and spread out her books. 'I wonder,' she muttered.

She opened her Arithmancy textbook along with "The Reality of Magic" and began computing the equations herself. It was around seven a.m. when she looked up triumphantly from her scroll that had got so lengthy it took up several feet of library floor space.

'I knew it! I was right; it is rubbish. There is no way a single person can possibly draw that much power. Ten times the average is needed to undo a spell after casting.' Hermione snorted. 'You can barely add two if you gain the precise wand.' She looked disgruntled at the book. 'The Reality of Magic is  _soooo_  important; it contains nothing but superstitions, statements without proof, dualistic hypotheses, and contradictory statements.'

'Hermione Jean Granger?' Madam Pince shrieked, shocked someone was in here.

'Madam Pince! I didn't hear you come in.'

'Obviously,' the librarian grumbled. 'Have you been here all night, illegally?'

'I just had to check some theories. I didn't disturb anything,' Hermione added hastily. 'I used my own books.'

'And here I thought you were one of the few responsible enough. Now I have to make a report to Mr Filch about you being in here after hours. Let me see those books on your table, young lady.'

Madam Pince inspected them page to page for the signs of ownership of the Hogwarts library. In the end she gave them back irritably. 'Have you even had breakfast already?'

'No, I-,' Hermione, suddenly, realised her stomach was growling, 'I forgot the time.'

'Well, hurry along then, before you are too late,' snapped Madam Pince, shooing her out, before she started checking the rest of her precious books and protective spells on them. Who knew what one wayward student would have done to them, the horror.

'Thank you, madam,' said Hermione, as she packed her stuff quickly and made her way to the Great Hall.

Neville greeted her cheerfully as she sat down between him and Harry at the breakfast table. 'You are just in time,' Ginny stated across the table. 'We were about the start a search and rescue mission.'

Hermione stared at her open-eyed, and everyone at the table turned quiet, glancing and trying not to look at Harry's reaction. Ginny started stuttering. 'I-I d-didn't mean…'

Harry was very busy with his breakfast.

'Did you see Luna's new hat?' Neville asked, diverting the attention away.

'No,' Hermione said, raising her head to look at the Ravenclaw table. 'Oh wow, she reached new heights with that design.'

'Yeah,' giggled Parvati, 'Padma said she was so entranced in creating it that she almost went out of her dormitory dressed in just the hat.'

'I'd loved to have seen that,' Dean stated.

Ginny glared at him.

'Well, I-I,' Dean tried, and he looked around desperately for help.

'Give it up mate, you're screwed now,' Seamus whispered underneath his breath. 'Mail! I hope my mother sent me those biscuits I have asked her about.'

'You just ate three full plates,' Parvati commented.

'So?'

Hermione placed her pile of letters next to her plate. She would read them after she finished eating.

'Geezzz Seamus, how can you eat those cookies now? You still have Jell-O.'

'Want some?' Seamus held out the box, while he teased Parvati by stuffing his mouth full with Jell-O, too.

'Oh, you are making me sick.'

'Thanks,' said Neville, who took a cookie gratefully. 'His mum makes the best biscuits,' he explained apologetically to some of the disgusted faces around.

'You know it is great to finally get mail again that isn't screened by the Ministry,' Ginny said, accepting one of Seamus's cookies.

Harry ignored Seamus's offer, making Hermione and Ginny share concerned looks. Hermione turned and was about to say something to Harry when Ginny interrupted. 'Think your parents sent you anything that Umbridge would have disagreed upon?' Ginny asked, pleading with her eyes for Hermione to not ask Harry how he was doing.

'Yeah, Hermione,' Neville agreed, picking up Hermione's envelopes and weighing them in his hand. 'You have quite a stack there. Umbridge must have halted your mail for months.'

'She got the paper every day,' Parvati disagreed.

'Sure,' Ginny said, 'Umbridge would have known Hermione would notice if suddenly her daily paper didn't show up anymore.'

'Maybe she is afraid of dentists,' Dean suggested, making everybody laugh.

'If only…,' Hermione mused, grinning, and she snatched her mail back from Neville.

'You dropped one; here,' Neville bent over and picked up a thick envelope made of almost yellow parchment. 'Wow, this one is different; expensive, no return address, just your name.' He looked at it back to front.

'Do you mind?' Hermione said, now annoyed.

'Sorry,' Neville said, handing it back to her.

Hermione looked at her name. Probably more shit from The Keepers of whatever; it was their style.

'Aren't you going to open it?' Ginny asked.

Hermione looked up and saw everyone looking at her curiously. Everyone, except for Harry, who seemed to stare into thin air. She cursed the Keepers for not choosing a more inconspicuous method of communicating with her. Now, she had to make up some elaborate story to satisfy everyone. Not that she had not done so before, but they could try to be more discrete. It was almost like they did it on purpose. She used her knife to open the letter and pulled out the thick parchment.

'Definitely wizarding origin,' Neville commented.

The others seemed to agree.

Hermione opened the parchment. As her eyes began reading the fine script, the letters flew from the pages in a blinding green flash and struck her dead on in the chest.

'Hermione!'

People were shouting her name as her body flew through the air and collided with the solid wall behind her. She felt numb, dazed. The world was swirling. A pair of green eyes swirled into focus, briefly.

'Hermione, Hermione!' yelled Harry, as he shook her. 'Stay with us. Hermione, don't…'

She had no idea what Harry didn't want her to do. Footsteps – lots of them – echoed in the dark.

'What happened!' a boy shouted from the far end of the Great Hall.

'Did you see that?' a girl's voice.

'Everybody back; stand back, Harry,' she vaguely heard Dumbledore say. 'Hermione?'

She couldn't open her eyes. It was impossible. Everything was too heavy.

'Miss Granger?'

Who was this Miss Granger? Had she done something? She had no idea what was going on. She needed to rest. She was tired, so tired. Sleep, sleep sounded great. Then she had to find it. Yeah, she knew that much, find the answer. But what was the question again? Darkness flooded her vision. She had to remember. It was vital. She had to…

Neville reached for the parchment. A hand pulled him back by his collar and threw him into his seat. Neville turned pale when he saw Snape's dark glare directed at him. 'There is no need to prove to the world again and again that you are able to reach new levels of daftness, Longbottom; we are all blatantly aware of your continuing incompetence.'

Snape cast a couple of spells at the parchment, before he finally picked it up. His face turned dark. 'Headmaster,' he said gravely. He turned the parchment and revealed the swirling snake that was leaving the skull's head to everyone.

'No,' whispered Harry, horrified, 'no, not Hermione.'

'Albus?' McGonagall asked, looking from the parchment to the unconscious Hermione worriedly.

'Warn Poppy we are coming, Minerva,' said Dumbledore, whipping his wand around. A purple bubble surrounded Hermione and lifted her of the ground, while McGonagall hurried away to the infirmary.

'Severus, I need you,' Dumbledore said over his shoulder.

'Potter, you all stay here,' Snape barked, as a parade of Gryffindors wanted to follow Dumbledore and Hermione.

'I am coming,' Harry said; his jaw locked in determination. 'She is my friend.'

Several Gryffindors murmured in agreement. They were all going.

Dumbledore turned in the doorway and said, 'Harry, Ginny and Neville, your presence is required in the infirmary.' A funny, huge hat jumped up and down on his right. 'And Miss Lovegood is welcome too, of course.'

They all moved quickly after Dumbledore. The noise in the Great Hall was deafening. No one noticed a pale Draco Malfoy was burning his unopened letters underneath the Slytherin table.

'The rest of you get back in your seats or I will withdraw what little points your pathetic Houses have left,' Snape sneered, quieting the voices of the other students instantaneously. As he swooped out the door last, all that remained were silent whispers of speculation concerning to what had just happened.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**The Apprentice**

**Chapter four**

The room was a buzz with voices, speaking through one another. Gellert leaned back, balancing his chair on its two back legs, while resting his own on the desk before him – his head was tilted back to the ceiling to follow the tennis-ball he had thrown. He had made a little detour to Wimbledon before coming. So, he had a favourite for the championship this year; nobody would be the wiser. He'd been very careful with his magic. He grinned, tossing the ball up and up again.

'I am not saying it's admirable behaviour,' Gunvald Kollberg stated. 'I am saying there is nothing in the declaration that denounces it.'

'You cannot just curse your apprentice for the fun of it,' Li Mei retorted. 'It is unacceptable.'

'You can't?' an old man said in mock shock. 'Can I file a complaint then about my former guide?'

Loud laughter all around.

'I'd say the statute of limitations has passed, died and been buried on your case,' grinned Bouvier.

'It's only been one-hundred-and-fifty years ago,' the old man complained, glancing at Keeper Ljudmila Volkova with twinkling eyes.

She twirled her wand through her curls and said, 'I actually think I should be reprimanded for not cursing you enough. You never did change that Know-It-All attitude.'

'No, no, Ljudmila, McFerlon is right,' Gellert intervened. 'If you cursed him, then we need to evaluate that.'

'Thank you, my friend,' McFerlon said, nodding in mock politeness.

'You're welcome,' Gellert replied, nodding back. 'So, if you would be so kind to show us exactly curse by curse what you did to him, we can make an informed -.'

'EHHH!' McFerlon swirled over the back of the couch he sat on.

'Your enormous butt is still showing!' Gellert warned happily.

An evil grin made it to Ljudmila's face, as she tapped her wand in her hand. 'Shall I demonstrate then?'

Lots of murmurs of wicked agreement filled the room.

'Ten on Volkova.'

'No fair, her target is unmissable.'

'Is that a real word?'

'You know this is all very entertaining and so on, but can we please focus on the issue at hand. Some of us actually have lives to get back to,' a dark-bearded man said, annoyed.

'Yes, let's focus on the issue at hand,' McFerlon squeaked anxiously from behind the couch.

Gellert couldn't resist the opportunity to make loud chicken-noises.

'If this is how it's going to go, I am leaving,' the bearded man stated, getting up from his chair.

'Now Petro, you heard Albus; it is a serious issue to discuss.'

'Then let's discuss it.'

'I don't see the need to discuss this nonsense. So, he cursed the girl, big deal. You don't even have an iota of notion toward his motives, Albus,' Bouvier said, giving Dumbledore a dark glare.

'His motives are irrelevant. Nightmare Curses are incredibly dangerous,' Li Mei replied, 'life-threatening even.'

'Only if the curse-sender and the recipient of the curse are powerful enough.'

'Are you suggesting the girl is lacking?'

'His motives are irrelevant? Did you change the charter when I wasn't looking?'

'We do have a responsibility towards our apprentice's safety. One cannot deny that.'

'It would be nice if Mr High-and-Mighty was here to explain himself. I suppose Keeper meetings are beneath his noseless head.'

Everyone talked through one another again. Gellert tossed his ball in the air, glancing sideways at his silent friend. Albus's sharp eyes were following the discussion and the arguments of the individual parties present keenly. Gellert caught his ball and shook his head. It was never a smart move to let Albus have the playing field all to himself. If he were in Voldemort's shoes, he'd been there early to nip this in the bud before it could turn into an actual drama, as it was beginning to become now.

'Fifteen-Love,' he credited Dumbledore with, tossing his ball in the air once more.

'I believe everyone here is aware of Article Nine,' Albus said softly.

The room turned silent instantaneously.

'Thirty-Love,' Gellert counted, impressed.

'I was under the impression the girl is still alive?' Gunvald asked, confused.

'The article doesn't merely constitute the actual death of the apprentice; it contains the regard or lack thereof in which the guide is approaching the possibility of death.'

'Oww. Forty-Love,' Gellert refereed in his head.

'Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves,' Garcia y Ortega hushed. 'Surely, the girl- '

'Hermione Granger,' Albus interrupted. 'She has a name, Juanita.'

'Hermione Granger, I trust, would not have been chosen by you if you had no faith in her capabilities. We often test those more worthy harsher than others.'

Many Keepers nodded.

'Forty-Fifteen.'

'I am not opposed to hard testing,' Albus replied smoothly. 'But as a guide you are forbidden not only to cause the death of your apprentice but also to take the risk of it happening. You cannot deny that with this curse, Lord Voldemort took that risk and it is our duty as Keepers to respond whether Hermione Granger dies or not.'

'Game Albus,' Gellert decided, glancing at the door. Surely, he wasn't going to pass on this meeting? He had to realise what it was going to be about.

'Our duty?' muttered McFerlon, puzzled.

'Yes,' Albus said clearly. 'You know the penalty to breaking Article Nine.'

Gellert smirked. This was going to be interesting.

Murmurs all around.

'Now look, Albus, you can't just decide this on your own.'

'Outrageous!'

'Are you suggesting we have to kill our fellow Keeper?' Donahue said, shocked.

'It's not a suggestion,' Li Mei said stern, stepping forward. 'It's in the charter. We all know Albus is right. We all know how hazardous Nightmare Curses are. It doesn't matter how or why or what his motives were; it doesn't matter if she dies or not; it matters that he decided to risk her life and as such he crossed the boundaries of his responsibilities as her guide, which is punishable by death according to our own rules.'

The silence was deafening.

'Game and set,' Gellert decided, tossing his ball.

Then… the uproar started.

'You planned this!' the bearded man yelled, waving his wand at Dumbledore with a dark passion.

'Most likely,' Gellert thought, amused.

'A vicious attempt to disrupt the balance of this council, I say.'

Bang!

The door rammed the wall and almost flew off its hinges as Lord Voldemort whirled in. It became silent immediately. He took the vacant seat next to Gellert and crossed his legs calmly. Everyone stared at him.

'So glad you could make it,' Donahue said sarcastically.

Lord Voldemort raised a non-existing eyebrow. 'Why would I hurry here? Don't tell me I actually missed anything but the sounds of quarrelling House-Elves.'

'No, you missed nothing important at all,' Donahue replied sweetly. 'Just your death sentence.'

'Oh really?' Voldemort crossed his arms. 'Which one of you heroes is going to be first in line?' He looked around the quiet room mockingly, until his eyes rested on Donahue again. 'You?'

Donahue took an involuntary step back.

Voldemort snorted.

Gellert leaned towards him. 'I think they have the who covered,' he said, nodding towards the Hogwarts Headmaster meaningfully.

'How come? Did the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore run out of little kiddies to send my way?'

Gellert tossed his ball again, thinking that snide putdown was worth at least a set-full of points.

_One set each._

Dumbledore drew his wand; Voldemort swirled out of his chair; Gellert rubbed his hands, looking forward to the entertainment at hand, while the other Keepers dashed out of the way, cursing the itty-bitty tiny room they were in. Two green jets of light crashed centre stage. Gellert umphed, as his chair collapsed backward from the force of it, sending him tumbling to the ground ungracefully. He looked up, trying to see what was happening. Another Killing Curse, source unknown, nearly brushed his hair.

'EH!' he yelled, covering his head underneath his arms. He wasn't the bloody target anymore.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Voldemort redirect one of Dumbledore's Killing Curses and he suddenly knew why the Dark Lord hadn't made any objections to his sentencing. It was his way around Article Two, "One Keeper shall not take the life of another". With Dumbledore invoking Article Nine, that article was temporarily suspended. He can kill us all now; he is going to kill us all now, Gellert realised, horrified.

_Crap, no double crap._

If ever before he had regretted not having a wand anymore, the current situation definitely topped it. His mind raced, trying to find solutions to the obvious disaster lying ahead. If Dumbledore lost this duel, they were all doomed. So, he had to help Albus win. He banged the floor with his head and groaned.

Hell no. There had to be another solution.

Maybe they could just kill each other? If only…

He sighed, relishing the visual. But he woke abruptly from the pleasant daydream when the walls of the magically enforced chamber vibrated from the impacts of the curses shooting back and forth. The other Keepers were simply taking cover; unaware of the danger they were all facing.

Come on, come on; he had to think of another solution. Perhaps…?

His head swivelled up. 'Brilliant as ever, Gellert,' he told himself.

And he started crawling towards the centre of the room on his belly - the hot zone of the curses and all the dark magic. Stray sparks of it pierced his body painfully, making him wince.

'Yeah, really, really brilliant,' he mumbled, taking a deep breath. 'And some say you're mad,' he added mockingly, before he jumped up with his eyes closed. 'I revoke Article Nine!'

_Game, set, match referee?_

xxx

She walked. Why? She had no idea. Whereto? Another unanswered question; like so many more. The world was filled with unanswered questions.

Questions. Questions needed answering. Right? Right. She knew that much.

A fork in the road. Left or right? She bit her lip. She didn't know. Why didn't she know?

Taunting voices, flowing with the wind, supplying the answers, 'Cause you're a moron.' … 'Not good enough.' … 'Doesn't even know her way.' … 'You are a failure.' … 'Never gonna amount to anything.' … 'You do not belong here.' … 'Go home.' … 'You'll never get it.'

She bit her lip. 'Why aren't you helping me?' she shouted, frustrated.

'Why – why – why? Help – help – help,' echoed the voices.

'Whom should we be helping?' a clear, low voice asked behind her.

She swirled around. A dark-haired boy, about her age, leaned with his shoulder against a lamppost; his long legs crossed, he seemed totally at ease in the unusual environment. She could have sworn he hadn't been there a moment ago.

'I wasn't,' he responded to her unsaid observation.

She frowned, staring at the dark eyes that observed her in wicked amusement. 'Why are you here now?'

'Ah,' the boy said, smiling broadly, 'because you asked a question.'

'I asked many questions before.'

'Not the right ones.'

'What are the right ones?'

'That is for you to find out.'

'You are not very helpful, are you?'

'If you say so.'

'I know so,' she stated, certain. Yeah, she was certain of that; but why? She didn't know this boy, did she? 'Who are you?'

'Who are you?' he returned with a knowing smile.

She frowned. She had to know the answer to that, didn't she? People knew who they were. She wrecked her mind to supply her with the answer, but it was a blur. She looked up, shocked. 'I don't know,' she whispered.

'She doesn't know; she doesn't know,' the voices carried.

'Do you know who I am?' she asked.

The boy shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

'I'd like to know.'

'Do you think others can tell you who you truly are?'

She thought about it, then nodded. 'Yes, who you are is defined by how others see you.'

'Isn't it by how you see yourself?'

'Also true, but a person doesn't live in a vacuum. You are your actions and thoughts and words. It's what you do and how you treat the people around you that define you. You can't see yourself fully if you don't understand how others see you.'

'And how do others see you?'

'Overachiever! Failure! We don't like you! Bossy Know-It-All! Nobody wants to be friends with you! Go away! Mudblood! You do not belong here! Busybody! Bookworm,' the voices took on steam.

'Nice qualities,' the boy mocked. 'Is this how you are to be defined?'

She looked at her shoes.

The voices grew in strength, calling her names and telling her she wouldn't live up to expectations, ever.

'No,' she finally whispered.

'No?' asked the boy.

'Sure it is!' the voices shouted. 'It's who you are! Failure! Failure!'

'No,' she said, stronger this time. She shook her head. 'I am not a failure.'

'Yes, you are; you are; you are.'

'How do you know you are not?' asked the boy, intrigued.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. 'Because I know, okay.'

The voices weakened in strength.

'Yeah, I know,' she repeated. 'I can do things. I know things. I am smart.'

'If you say so,' he said mockingly.

'I know so.'

'Wouldn't that be your definition of self then?'

She bit her lip. 'No,' she hesitated, realising he had a point. 'No, I am pretty sure there are others who think so too.'

'We don't,' the voices chimed.

'Yeah, Harry and Ron think so.' Her face brightened with the memory. 'I have friends.'

'No, you do not. They just use you. They need someone to copy notes from.' The voices grew in strength again. 'How else would they get things done?'

The boy tilted his head. 'Seems there is a doubt,' he stated.

She ignored his statement. 'I remember their names! I know what they look like. Harry has dark hair like you. Only his eyes are green and he wears glasses. He is very brave, a good friend. And Ron, Ron is tall and his hair is red; he has freckles and he is funny. He always makes me laugh.' She paused. 'Why can I remember them and not myself?'

'Maybe it feels safer to evaluate another instead of yourself?'

'Always,' she laughed.

'Then you have your answer.'

'How am I supposed to evaluate what I can't remember?'

The boy smirked. 'You tell me.'

'You are not really here to help me, are you?' she asked, narrowing her eyes distrustfully.

He pushed away from the lamppost and approached her. Slowly and calculatingly, he began circling her.

'I asked you a question,' she said, following him with her eyes.

'I am not sure how to answer that,' he replied, halting in front of her.

'Yes, you are,' she said, certain again for some inexplicable reason.

'Then I choose not to answer it.'

She snorted. 'Answer enough.'

He shrugged again. 'It's not possible to find your path if you are unaware of who you are.'

'And you won't help me remember,' she sneered.

'I am helping; you are not listening.'

'I don't trust you.'

'Good,' he replied, unruffled. 'At least now we have determined you are not gullible. So, not gullible, can do things, knows things, smart; we seem to be getting somewhere.' He stepped aside, pointing at the fork in the road. 'Two paths ahead, which one do you choose?'

Both paths bathed in mist. It was impossible to see what lay beyond. 'How can I choose when I don't know what's ahead?'

'Can you ever know what's truly ahead?' asked the boy, moving behind her.

'Sure, in order to foresee the future you have to look at the past; Arithmancy one-oh-one. You have to know all the variables to reach an educated decision about what is your best option. I can't just pick one and hope for the best. Thàt would be insane.'

'We'll add control-freak to the list of your character,' the boy decided.

'You really are a very big help,' she said sarcastically.

'We have already established that,' the boy responded, amused. His hands landed on her shoulders. 'But I could be,' he whispered in her ear. 'Just pick the right path.'

She shivered.

His hands rubbed her shoulders, traced along her arms until his fingers enfolded hers, and he pulled her in a tight hug. 'Ask the right question,' he breathed against her neck.

'Which path would you pick,' she whispered.

He kissed her neck. 'Left.'

'Right it is,' she decided, determined.

His body stiffened. 'Why would you do that?'

'I can't trust you, remember.'

'You should have,' he said, disappointed. Suddenly, they were high up in the air. His arms around her kept her from falling. She felt his head move around to take in their new environment, as if he was surprised to be there. 'I take it you're afraid of heights then, dear?' he mocked.

'No,' she lied, pretty sure it was not a good idea to let him know what frightened you.

'We wouldn't be here if you weren't,' was his cold response.

She felt the threat in his words. Sweat trickled down her spine; her heart raced; her breath froze; there was nothing to hold on to. No Harry to hold and trust. She hated flying; she hated heights; she was afraid to fall, afraid to die; she remembered everything and panicked.

'Enjoy the ride, Hermione.'

And Tom Riddle let go, making her worst nightmare come true.

Her screams vibrated through the sky. She didn't want to die. She was only sixteen. The ground closed in faster and faster. There was nothing to slow her descend. Trees, she could make out the individual trees already. She closed her eyes, hugged her arms to herself and waited for the inevitable impact. A piercing pain shot through her arm, her chest and then nothing.

xxx

It was eerily quiet in the infirmary that night. Harry and the others had been beside Hermione's bed for hours before Dumbledore had sent them to their respective beds, telling them Hermione was going to be just fine and leaving Hogwarts himself.

But Ron tossed and turned on his infirmary bed. He couldn't sleep. His arms had started to itch terribly and he didn't want to call nurse Pomfrey. He was too worried to have her leave Hermione's side. He stretched his head to try to see beyond the closed curtains. No sound came through them, so he had no idea how Hermione was doing. If Snape hadn't been there, Ron would have gone over there to check up on her. But after almost being cursed twice by the Potions Master, Ron thought it best not to try his luck a third time.

Behind the curtains, however, things were not brightening up.

'Poppy,' Snape said quietly, turning Hermione's head towards the nurse so she could see the blood trickling out of the girl's mouth.

Poppy Pomfrey gasped. She leaned forward. 'Oh my God,' she whispered. 'Look.'

Snape frowned, seeing the compound fractures on Granger's arms. They hadn't been there a moment ago.

Poppy pulled the blanket away. Her hands flew to her mouth when she saw the mess that was Hermione's body. 'I am not qualified to treat this. Dark Arts Curses are not a part of my speciality. I told Dumbledore this; I told him! I am just a school nurse,' Poppy Pomfrey panicked, looking at Snape horrified. 'She needs a proper Healer.'

'She needs a miracle,' Snape corrected, pulling out his wand and starting to chant. The wounds opened faster than he could close them. He shook his head. This wasn't going to work. The curtains around the bed opened.

'By Godric!' yelled McGonagall, her hands grabbing her chest. 'Contact St. Mungo's, Poppy, get them to send Healers fast, now!'

Nurse Pomfrey ran to her office, while Minerva McGonagall moved to the other side of the bed and whipped out her wand as well. 'Where the Hell is Albus?'

Snape just looked at her.

'What's going on?' Ron shouted, stumbling out of bed. 'Is Hermione all right?'

'Stay there, Weasley,' Snape barked.

'We need Blood-Replenishing Potion, Poppy!' Minerva shouted, closing another arterial bleed.

Poppy came running; she pushed the curtains aside.

'Noooooo!' Ron yelled, running forward and grabbing the edge of the bed. 'Hermione!'

The bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion were hung in record time. 'I've sent the message to St. Mungo's,' Poppy informed them. 'It will take some time before they get here. They need to bypass the new Hogwarts wards. Professor Dumbledore reinforced them before he left.'

'Skele-Gro,' McGonagall added, in between her chants.

Poppy turned.

'Nightmare-Diluting Potion first; we need this to stop,' Snape corrected.

Poppy grabbed the syringe. 'Get the Skele-Gro, Ron, quickly,' she ordered.

'We need more help,' Minerva said through gritted teeth, her wand flashing in circles around Hermione's head.

Ron came back; his arms filled with bottles. 'Where?' he asked, looking around for space to place them on.

Poppy took one and began pouring the first bottle down Hermione's throat. Ron dumped the rest on the bed next to Hermione.

'Flitwick,' Snape hissed, mending a lung, again. 'Get Flitwick.'

Ron looked from Snape to McGonagall. Both were concentrating hard on their charms and chants. He had never before seen both Professors having to work this hard on their magic. They always made it seem effortlessly. It scared the living daylights out of him.

'I'll get him,' Ron uttered, running away hard after one last look at Hermione.

He had never moved through Hogwarts this fast. Ron pounded on the door. 'Professor! Professor!'

Flitwick opened it sleepily. 'Mr Weasley, why are –?'

Ron grabbed his arm and pulled the little Professor with him. There was no time.

'Mr Weasley,' Flitwick squeaked, trying to keep his much shorter legs under his body.

'Hermione is dying. Snape and McGonagall need your help!' Ron yelled desperately.

A tapestry flew from the wall, crashed into their legs, and Ron got thrown into the air. He landed only just on the edge of the tapestry. Panicking, Ron clutched his hands at the rim as they dove down the revolving staircases, missing them by mere inches. Professor Flitwick calmly sat in front, directing the tapestry to the infirmary in record speed.

'Where is Albus?' he asked, taking in the situation as he jumped of the tapestry with his wand at the ready.

Ron was still trying to catch his breath.

'No idea,' Minerva responded, while Poppy wiped the sweat of her forehead.

'Healers?' Flitwick continued, while he twirled his wand around in an intricate movement and Hermione's blood began pouring less quickly out of her body.

'Coming,' Poppy replied.

'More Nightmare-Diluting Potion,' Snape hissed breathlessly.

'She already had the maximum dose, twice.'

'Do it.'

Poppy shook her head, but pushed in the next syringe anyway. 'We are going to run out of Blood-Replenishing Potion soon,' she commented, looking at the hanging bottles.

'Weasley,' said Snape; his wand making high swooshing sounds.

'Yes, Professor?' asked Ron, climbing of the tapestry.

'You know your way around my cupboard, I believe.'

Ron turned on his heels and made a run for the dungeons.

'We are going to lose her,' Poppy muttered.

'No,' Snape hissed, determined. 'No, we are not.' He was not losing anyone else to that man ever again, not if he could help it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _With special thanks to FFnet's Ali-lue for reminding me to "kill my darlings"._

** The Apprentice **

 

**Chapter Five**

 

Gellert Grindelwald stood quietly. His eyelids pressed together; his fists clenched; he expected his body to keel over any minute now. The serene silence that surrounded him was a sure sign he had to have moved on, passed away, bought the farm, or whatever. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check. 

 

He peeked through one eyelid.

 

Haha! Game, set, match Grindelwald!

 

It had worked. Cheerfully, he patted himself. Alright, everything still in working order. Brilliant, yeah Gellert, you definitely are the most brilliant wizard of all. He’d beaten them both at the same time. A chuckle escaped his lips and he looked around the chamber. His cheerful mood dropped instantaneously when he saw Albus Dumbledore give him the most murderous glare ever. _Not good._

 

Quickly, he looked in another direction, which brought him eyelevel to Lord Voldemort. _Yikes!_

 

The way the man smiled sweetly at him made it very clear the Potter boy had just been bumped from the number one slot. Crap. For the first time in all eternity those two had to agree on something and it had to be killing him! Life was so unfair.

 

‘Gellert?’ Albus asked calmly.

 

‘Yes?’ he replied, frowning. He didn’t much care for that quality in Dumbledore’s voice; it meant the man was up-to-something.

 

‘Do you mind informing us all as to why you revoked Article Nine?’ Albus asked, tapping with his wand against his leg.

 

Well, hell yeah he minded. He hadn’t given it any thought. He had to give a reason. Uhmm… why – why – why?

 

‘Whenever you’re ready, Gellert,’ Voldemort’s voice mocked, twirling his wand in his hand.

 

Well, there was the notion of _Him_ killing them all. But somehow he didn’t think Albus would find that a valid enough reason. Some of the others might, but not Albus. Come to think of it, he found another thing Voldemort would agree on with Albus. It was an unusual night.

 

Besides, it would be impossible to prove. No, his reasoning had to involve the situation with the girl. He drew a blank. Albus had been right; Voldemort had crossed the line. Think, damn it, think.

 

‘Yes, we like to know why you interrupted our decision,’ said Li Mei.

 

Our decision! That was the answer. He felt like kissing the witch if she hadn’t belonged to the light side and hadn’t been a woman. ‘Procedure has to be followed; these two started to duel before we reached a consensus.’ 

 

Everyone in the room stared at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. Some sighed or even groaned. He had to admit the irony of him quoting procedure was thick, but it bought him much needed valuable time to think of something better.

 

‘Then let us follow procedure. We vote,’ said Voldemort.

 

‘Yes,’ Albus concurred quickly. ‘All those in favour of invoking Article Nine say-’

 

‘No-no-no!’ Gellert intervened. ‘That is not how we do things. We can’t make an informed decision, until we heard all the facts of the case.’ _Dear Merlin, where was all the moaning and whining when he needed it?_

 

Juanita sighed. ‘I hate to say this, but Gellert has a point.’

 

_Yes, time, thank you Garcia y Ortega._

 

‘We discussed it thoroughly enough, Juanita,’ Albus replied.

 

_So, if it came to a vote, it was currently seven against six. Seven of the dark and six of the light. Only Voldemort would vote similar as the light side, so it was six against seven._

 

‘No Albus, we heard your side of the story; we never heard his,’ Juanita said.

_He had to swing someone from the light side to vote with him._

‘If you had seen Hermione, you would not be making this statement, Nita,’ said Li Mei softly.

 

_Who to convince? Mei was out; she and Albus were like two peas in a pod – two rotten, moulded peas._

Juanita stayed silent for a moment. She shook her head. ‘Maybe not, Mei. Maybe I would let my emotions cloud my judgement too.’

 

_Volkova? Nope, she’d never bought any of his stories._

‘Are you saying I am being biased?’ Li Mei shouted, outraged. ‘Typical, typical. Let’s excuse the little, tiny Chinese girl’s arguments, for she is angry about this whole rotten situation, which is _soooo_ cute, and we all know that cute, little, emotional women can’t think straight. You racist, chauvinistic, bull-torturing, tortilla bitch.’

 

Everyone held their breath.

 

_Perhaps Juanita?_

Then, the volcano erupted. Albus jumped between the two when Juanita whipped out her wand; Ljudmila Volkova grabbed her wandarm, pulling it down. Sparks impacted on the floor.

 

‘Try me! Try me!’ Mei shouted, casting a curse around Albus, who made soothing gestures in vain.

‘Umph,’ Volkova groaned; an elbow had landed in her stomach and she’d let Juanita go.

 

‘My pleasure!’ shouted Juanita, flashing her wand. An enormous bull thundered through the room, heading straight for Mei. ‘There you go, you dog-eating, dragon-killing, rice-filled crackpot!’

 

_No, Garcia followed protocol and Voldemort broke it. Despite her current argument with Mei, she would still side with her when the voting started. He would not be able to convince her otherwise. Gunvald lost his brother during Voldemort’s first reign. That left him with Donahue; Donahue hated his guts. He was screwed. Unless…_

_Unless he could avoid that some of them got to vote for – er – emotional reasons! Thank you Li, for supplying him with the answer. Albus could be removed for reasons of personal interest. He supplied Hermione as a candidate, which made him biased; though that would get him eliminated from the vote, too. Albus would undoubtedly state that he had an interest in Hermione’s death, since it gave his candidate a larger chance. Oh, that would apply to Mei too then, since her candidate was also still in the running. Ah, now he was getting somewhere. Uhmm… that would make it… five to five. Damn. Wait, he could Voldemort excused as well, for obvious reasons. HA! Four to five, victory was his._

_No wait, Dumbledore would find use of his method to excuse Sharasvati Nathaira. Albus would say all the “guides” had a personal interest, too. Crap, four to four again. He was getting nowhere. A tie didn’t help him this time, since the rules stated that the accused and accuser had a final say then._

‘Gellert?’

_So, he had to avoid it coming to a vote. How could he possibly prevent it?_

‘Gellert!’

 

Shocked, he looked up. The fight was over, already? He had nothing, zip. His eyes fell on Lord Voldemort, who practically lounged in the couch, smirking. The man knew he had him trapped. If only he could turn his plan against him; if only … he could make him not want to have Article Nine invoked! He’d been trying to swing the wrong person. Besides, why should he have to do all the work? It was his mess; let him clean it up.

 

With a wicked smile, Gellert looked up. ‘I’d liked to bring under attention that after we heard all the arguments, and if we vote to invoke Article Nine, then we all have the responsibility to assist in the fulfilment of the execution.’ _There, smirk at that, Tommy-dearest._

 

Lord Voldemort stiffened in the couch. He obviously hadn’t planned to take them all on at once. He had wanted the element of surprise, which Gellert had now conveniently screwed over. But Gellert was pretty sure the man would have an out; he always planned for every eventuality.

 

‘Gellert is right,’ Kollberg stated. ‘It’s not supposed to be a duel and it’s unfair of us to lay it all on Albus’s shoulders.’

 

Murmurs of agreement all around.

 

‘Aren’t you walking ahead of yourself?’ Sharasvati Nathaira stated. ‘We haven’t even heard both sides and you’ve already decided the outcome. As a guide myself, I have to find it incredibly disturbing that this Council has decided we can no longer discipline our apprentices in the way we see fit. The Mu- girl was still alive if I understood Albus correctly.’

 

‘Ah,’ Gellert responded, deciding he was feeling vindictive enough to rub the proverbial salt in the wound. ‘But we have established already that it is not about whether or not she is going to die; it is the fact that he took the deliberate risk.’

 

His grin was met with a satisfied expression on the Dark Lord’s face. Gellert frowned. Not what he had expected.

 

‘There is no risk,’ Lord Voldemort said smoothly, not taking his eyes of Gellert.

 

Confused voices spoke through one another. ‘Nightmare Curses are always a risk.’

 

‘I daresay-’

 

‘Let me finish,’ Voldemort spoke softly.

 

Silence returned; everyone looked at him curiously.

 

‘I build in a safeguard into the fundaments of the nightmare. If her life becomes at risk, the safeguard will kick in, preventing such an,’ he paused, ‘unfortunate outcome,’ he sneered.

 

‘For crying out loud man, why didn’t you say so?’ McFerlon said, exasperated. ‘We have been here for almost the entire bleeding night.’

 

‘What a waste of time,’ Bouvier muttered darkly, getting to his feet to leave.

 

‘I missed the Eagles play the Dolphins for this,’ grumbled Donahue.

 

‘Next time you call a meeting, Albus,’ Nathaira sneered, ‘make sure there actually is an issue.’

 

All of the Keepers vacated the chamber rather quickly, until only three people remained. ‘Well,’ Gellert said, slapping his hands on his legs, while getting to his feet, ‘I’ll guess I’ll be going then too.’

 

‘Why leave?’ asked Voldemort sweetly.

‘Do stay around,’ Albus spoke simultaneously.

 

Gellert froze, his eyes darting between them, while both wizards glared at each other. They each still had their wands out.

‘Doesn't the great Dumbledore have to go and make sure the Mudblood is all right? You wouldn't want the world to see how little you care, would you?’ Voldemort sneered. ‘Besides, it's not like I'll be needing your assistance in dealing with pitiful losers as him.’

‘I have every confidence in Miss Granger's capabilities to take care of herself. I believe, however, that my business with Gellert is much more pressing than yours,’ Albus replied coldly.

It was amazing neither of their wands broke from the tension in which they were being held.

‘It’s been – er – fun,’ Gellert said, coughing nervously as he began backing up. ‘But I-I can’t stay, you know, only allowed to leave Nurmengard on Keeper related business and uhmm…’ His hand clutched the doorknob; he turned it, nothing. _Crap! Albus and his damn stealthy Locking Charms._

‘Whose business is more pressing is all in the eye of the beholder,’ Voldemort stated, ignoring Gellert completely.

‘Then it seems we have reached an impasse,’ Albus replied thoughtfully. ‘How do we decide which one of us gets to curse Gellert first?’

‘Now, here now, wait a second,’ Gellert objected, giving the door a good yank. _Blasted Anti-_ _Apparation_ _Wards._

‘I may have a suggestion,’ Voldemort said with an evil grin, whipping his wand around.

\---

 

Hermione groaned. Everything hurt; and what was that disgusting sweet metallic taste in her mouth? She opened her eyes. Her pupils dilated in fear when she saw the same dark-haired boy as before.

 

‘Don’t move,’ he ordered.

 

‘I-I know you,’ she said, coughing.

 

‘Great, we can skip the introductions,’ Tom said.

 

His hands took a hold of her head and he leaned forward.

 

‘Wha-’

 

His lips pressed upon hers, opening her mouth. A breath of fresh air swirled down to her lungs, dazing her mind. A tingle of magic came with it and she panicked. Pain shot through her body. She screamed.

 

‘Don’t fight me,’ Tom said, leaning back, ‘you will die if you do.’

 

‘Oh yeah, like you care, Lord Voldemort,’ Hermione said, with a distinct sneer to his name.

 

‘Care or not, I am trying to save you. Most people act a bit more gracious to their saviours.’

 

‘You dropped me,’ Hermione hissed furiously.

 

‘So I did,’ he, casually, conceded. ‘It should not have hurt you.’

 

‘We were up miles!’

 

‘No, none of this is actually real, Hermione; you’re in a dream state. Nightmares can only affect you in reality if you give them power. And Sweet Salazar, you sure have a lot of power to grant them.’ His eyes gleamed red with greed for a second. ‘I have to say I would never have cursed you in this manner had I known how much of your magic you were holding back.’

 

‘Oh, so now this is all my fault.’

 

He smirked. ‘Do you want to die debating the issue, or are you going to let me help you stay alive?’

 

‘You’re going to help me? Hah! I feel overwhelmed with gratitude,’ Hermione mocked.

 

‘You should,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘I don’t usually make a habit of saving your kind.’

 

‘Yeah, I am sure it is _my_ life you’re concerned about.’

 

‘Why squabble on semantics; let’s focus on the staying alive part,’ said Tom smoothly. ‘You need to let me mingle my magic with yours.’

 

‘Why?’ Hermione asked suspiciously.

 

‘So I can heal you.’

 

His lips brushed hers again. She pushed her body back in the mattress; another wave of pain flushed through her, making her almost pass out.

 

Tom sighed and just looked at her, until she could breathe normally again.

 

‘Do you have to do it this way?’ Hermione said, exasperated.

 

‘You’d think I’d do this if there was another method?’ He snorted. ‘The mingling of magic is a very intimate procedure. Believe me if I say a kiss is the least of our worries. Now shut up and follow my lead, you are running out of time.’

 

‘hmuummbl.’

 

She was unable to get another word in, because he kissed her firmly on her mouth. Gradually, she let herself give in to his kiss, his lips moving against hers, his tongue dancing around hers, his breath blowing down her windpipe again. The world swirled. Her eyes closed, she tilted her head. Their magic didn’t mingle; his magic engulfed hers. She gasped as the force of it made its way through her very being, healing her along the way. Her body tingled in its wake.  Out of breath, she opened her eyes. 

 

‘Phase one,’ he whispered.

 

The bed creaked as he positioned his body to hover above hers. The line of heat that radiated against her was almost too much to bear. She wanted to close the distance. She needed him to close the distance. The darkness in his eyes was entrancing. She wanted to drown in them. It called to her with soft, alluring whispers, coaxing the very fibre of her being to his command. Hermione felt confused. Something was wrong, yet felt so right – Lord Voldemort’s hands on her body, Lord Voldemort’s lips against hers skin, Lord Voldemort’s tongue trailing her flesh, and Lord Voldemort’s powerful dark magic seeping through her every pore.

 

 _‘Such sweet innocence,’_ his breath vibrated against the shell of her ear, _‘it will be my pleasure to take it.’_ He licked her ear, gradually moving to the hollow in her throat in a slow, meticulous attention. _‘To taint it.’_ His tongue traced her pounding heartbeat in the arteries underneath her skin up her neck to end by her other ear. He spoke in a low, sibilant tone of voice, ‘ _To rip it apart until only darkness remains.’_

 

Hermione shivered, both in fear and anticipation – one not excluding the other but enhancing the sensation. His teeth grazed past her jaw; she tilted her head to the side and his mouth enclosed around the soft flesh of her neck. She whimpered, trembling. He growled low and bit down, slowly, controlling, stilling her movements like a wild animal bent on domination of his price, his female, his conquest. She surrendered, allowing him this victory, her body his reward, her mind entranced, her soul captured. She was falling fast into that bottomless abyss and there was no brake, no safety net, no light to see with, nothing but him and the darkness he presented her with. Blood trickled down her skin, as he released his hold on her neck. The small red streams mirrored in his dark eyes, which were shining feverishly with delight, before he closed them and licked her blood away with a satisfactory growl.

 

 _‘So pure, so kind,’_ he spoke, capturing her eyes with his, commandeering her complete attention. His hands on either side of her head, his hips pressed firmly against hers, his legs trapping hers between his. _‘Yet I feel darkness in you, the power you deny yourself, the greatness you could achieve.’_ His soft demanding tone of voice fascinated her. _‘Let me show you,’_ he added, sitting up, kneeling his legs on either side of her hips, his body a warm weight on top of her burning loins. Antagonising slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt, revealing her black bra and unblemished skin. _‘Let me teach you,’_ he purred, massaging her breasts through the bra’s lace with his hands before grazing his nails down her sides. A flick of his wrist and his wand appeared. He trailed the tip along the lines of the lace fabric, following her curves, dipping his wand between her juvenile mounds. _‘Dominate you,’_ he suggested, temptingly.

 

His wand singed her skin, her bra caught in blue fire and she threw her head back with a scream mixed in pleasure and pain as the cold flames licked her breasts, hardening her nipples, sending shivers down her spine. _‘Give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.’_  

 

Another flick and every piece of clothing, including his, burst into flames. A heat unlike she ever experienced before made its way through her body, leaving her panting, breathless, her heart in her throat – wanting so much more, needing so much more.

 

She watched his perfectly lean, smooth body above hers; dark hair brushed against the pale white skin of his cheeks; long double-rowed eyelashes and beautifully arched eyebrows enhanced the depth and blackness of his dark-brown eyes; prominent cheekbones heightened his not too masculine face; a perfect jaw-line radiated his beauty and power; slender long-fingered hands, which took her smaller ones in his and wrapped her fingers around his soft erect flesh carefully – allowing her to feel for the first time what a man felt like. Staring straight into his eyes, Hermione knew Tom Marvolo Riddle had to be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and she wanted him, needed him, more than life itself.

 

A craving in the purest form pushed through her veins, thrumming in her mind, her chest, her loins. Too empty, she was too empty. A longing so intense it was maddening. She screamed. He released her hands and silenced her with a kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, pushing their upper-bodies together. His fingers teased her back. Fingernails left small red scratches as he traced her spine, pushing harder at sensitive parts. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back in ecstasy at his diligent touches.

 

‘Say yes, Hermione,’ he ordered. ‘Relinquish yourself to me fully.’

 

Her mind was too incoherent to form words for a reply, the world a blur, her environment a daze; the only focus was Him. One of his arms was now wrapped around her waist, while the other was at the base of her neck, massaging it with a dark intentness, rubbing his magic into her central nervous system. Small moans left her lips, feeling the true force of what she was resigning herself to. A cruel smile danced on his face, watching her yield to his power – her complete and utter failure to stop from falling into the Dark Arts. He was going to enjoy this very much.

 

His hand stroked through her hair, grabbed a firm hold of a large tuft of soft, brown frizz, and he yanked it to the side violently. She gasped, opening her eyes. His lips hovered above her still bleeding neck. ‘Answer me, Hermione,’ he threatened quietly.

 

Confused, she blinked at him.

 

He explained smoothly, ‘Turn yourself, your magic, into my care unconditionally and Lord Voldemort will reward you greatly – unlike he ever has done for anyone before.’

 

He tasted her sweet blood again, sucking at her neck like a vampire, slowly licking lower and lower to follow the blood-traces on her torso.

 

‘Please,’ she breathed.

 

‘Please what?’ he teased, encircling her nipple with his tongue, before drawing in a large amount of her breast into his mouth and sucking at its nipple fervently.

 

She bucked against him, her torso lifting from the mattress. ‘Oh God!’ she yelled; her arms flailing around to find something to hold onto.

 

‘Not really,’ he chuckled, blowing his breath over her wet mound and nipple before continuing the tormenting touch of his mouth and tongue on her breast again. Her hands found the biceps of his upper-arms and she dug her nails into his flesh. Swearing, he roughly undid her grip, grabbed her wrists in one hand and pushed them above her head in the pillow.

 

‘I’ll have to punish you for that,’ he breathed into her face.

 

His eyes darkening, he cupped her breast and squeezed it hard with his free hand. She screamed in pain. His bruising grip surrounded her nipple, pushing it up. Tom lowered his mouth and started sucking. Her yells turned from pain to passion, becoming louder and louder; her body trashed underneath him. He took advantage of his much taller frame to trap her lower body, force it to still, while gripping her wrists above her head tighter too. She whimpered, wanting to move, needing to move, but not being allowed to.

 

‘Please,’ she whispered again. ‘Please.’

 

His dark eyes glanced up from her breast with a devilish glint. His teeth grazed over her breast, taking in her nipple threateningly. His tongue dashed over its tip. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she bucked against him violently. His laugh danced around her. ‘Please what, Hermione?’ he repeated teasingly.

 

‘Help me,’ she said desperately.

 

‘Do you want me to take you?’ asked Tom, moving his body so they were face-to-face again.

 

The soft flesh of his erection brushed her thigh in the movement, causing her stomach to do little flip-flops.

 

‘Yes, please.’ She needed him; she wanted him inside of her now.

 

‘Will you submit yourself to me entirely?’ he questioned.

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Yes who?’

 

‘Yes, my Lord.’

 

His lip curled, satisfied. ‘Spread your legs,’ he ordered coldly.

 

She complied, bending her knees.

 

‘It won’t be quick and it won’t be gentle,’ he warned, positioning himself in front of her opening.

 

‘Please.’

 

With a harsh stroke, he entered her wholly, rupturing her virginal walls brutally, bumping her cervix. A pain-filled, high-pitched shriek left her lips. His mouth silenced her, while he held his position deep inside of her core; their hips locked against each other, he trapped her with his weight and power. Dark magic swarmed inside of her, spreading rapidly through every cell of her body. He touched her in places physically impossible. She trembled underneath him, wanting to get away, but unable to. He was a predator; she, his prey, and she was about to be consumed by his power.

 

Hatred, rage, pure unadulterated evil reached her mind, and everything spun. She couldn’t see straight. It was trying to find a spot to take hold, to seed and grow; determining the path ahead for her. When his magic reached her mouth, seeping back into him, his lips left hers. Staring down at the terrified young woman, he smirked wickedly.

 

‘And now, my dear, we dance.’

 

Forcefully, he began moving inside of her, over and over again. Nearly drawing out before smashing his full length back in. She was wet enough, but so tight. To him it felt delicious, but he was sure for her it was incredibly painful. It was obvious when she tried to struggle to get away, but he grabbed her wrists easily and pushed them beside her head in the mattress. No one gets away from Lord Voldemort, once he has his eyes set on obtaining them. Leaning on his arms, his weight pinned her down as the harsh smacks of flesh on flesh kept continuing. All the while he kept a firm lock on her eyes with his, making sure she’d know who she was with – who she’d chosen to surrender to.

 

Slowly, she began to widen. Her eyes unfocused for a split-second, but he saw it and started hitting that sweet spot inside her over and over and over again. He noticed the confusion on her face when pain turned to ecstasy; she began meeting his trusts with her hips instinctively, wanting it harder, faster, and more forceful. Something large and overwhelming formed inside of her – something with a very dark signature.

 

‘Wrap your legs around me,’ Tom ordered, perspiring.

 

She complied and found out it deepened his strokes, made them feel sharper somehow. She threw her head back, her eyes unfocused, as she met his trusts with a sweet desperation to feel fulfilled, to have him claim her very being and make her his. Darkness swirled around the corner of her vision. Her body tingled all over. It was searching, searching for a place to come to completion. Close, so close.

 

Their eyes met.

 

‘My Lord!’ she yelled, when he pushed her over the edge of that cliff and into that shaking, overwhelming experience of orgasm, keeping her in that moment by continuing to slam himself inside of her with all the force he could muster. The climax ripped away all her barriers, all her protections against what was trying to find a home inside of her. The darkness planted its seed to grow and ripen, and when she would least expect it; it would flourish and blossom to completion. Tom came when he felt it take hold. Spilling his seed inside of her with a triumphant growl, he collapsed on top of her – thoroughly exhausted; his magic drained to the very last Knut.

 

For a long time, Hermione kept staring at the ceiling, ignoring the soft black locks that brushed the side of her face and the body that still lay on top of her. She couldn’t believe what’d just happened – what she had done. She had fucked the Dark Lord and, even worse, enjoyed it. She took a deep breath. No, she was being ridiculous. None of this was real; it was all imaginary, fiction if you will – bad fiction; no, worse bad fanfiction. What kind of sick mind would make this up?

 

‘That would be you, dear,’ Tom said, sneering the endearment; an obvious sign of his excellent recovery skills. He pulled himself out of her and rolled to his side.

 

‘Your letter, your curse, dear,’ Hermione mocked back.

 

‘Ah, but your imagination created all this,’ Tom said, waving around. ‘I merely constituted the parameters, you filled them in. But don’t worry, I – Lord Voldemort – don’t mind, I always knew your kind was good for one thing.’

 

‘Ditto.’

 

They glared at each other.

 

‘I think you better wake up now,’ Tom said quietly. ‘I am beginning to question my judgement to keep you alive.’

 

‘Your judgement has always been questionable. It comes with the territory of insanity. Perhaps some pills-’

 

‘Now!’ Tom snapped; he pushed his wand between her ribs.

 

A bright green flash…

 

She flew to a seated position, gasping for air.

 

‘Hermione!’ McGonagall shouted.

 

‘Pro-professor?’ she coughed. ‘Oh, I am gonna be sick.’

 

She rolled to the side and puked all over a pair of fluffy red slippers. Professor McGonagall didn’t care. She grabbed her shoulders and held her. ‘Hermione, talk to us; are you all right?’

 

‘Just peachy keen,’ she muttered. She had never been this nauseous in her life.

 

‘It’s the Nightmare-Diluting Potion,’ a man in a spotless lime green Healer’s robe said haughtily, making Snape scowl. ‘It’s been known to have this side-effect in extreme doses. It will wear off in time.’

 

‘In time?’ Hermione said weakly, while McGonagall helped her to sit back against a pile of pillows.

 

‘Or you can take some Anti-Vomiting Potions? You do have those, nurse Pomfrey?’

 

‘Yes,’ Poppy said slightly irritably, ‘those we have.’

 

‘Excellent, excellent. Well, I see my work here is done.’ He patted Hermione on the shoulder. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow to check how she is doing, but I am not expecting any more problems. Once they wake it’s usually over. Give Albus my best.’

 

‘Will do,’ Flitwick squeaked.

 

Poppy Pomfrey escorted the Healer out.

 

‘He’s brilliant,’ McGonagall said, ‘but…’

 

‘Incredibly arrogant,’ Snape added.

 

‘I was going for annoying,’ McGonagall corrected.

 

‘That too,’ Snape conceded.

 

‘Indeed,’ Flitwick said. ‘Still, I’m glad he was here though.’

 

They all nodded.

 

Hermione looked around. Every single one of the Professors looked like they had rolled around in blood, puss and other unidentifiable liquids. It was when she realised her bed, everything around it, and she looked like they had been through the same war-zone. ‘What happened?’ she asked, looking around.

 

A pale Ron waved at her from his bed. She smiled.

 

‘You were cursed with a nightmare by You-Know-Who,’ McGonagall answered gravely. ‘You almost didn’t make it; but, thank Godric, we were able to keep you breathing long enough for Healer Abercrombie to wake your body.’

 

They had all been here, while she was having that particular nightmare? Hermione felt the blood rush to her face. They hadn’t noticed anything, had they? If they had, she was leaving and never ever coming back for sure. She glanced at them all, but felt relief when she didn’t see anything on their faces that suggested they had.

 

‘I believe we could all benefit from a bath,’ Professor Snape said. ‘I trust Miss Granger’s mail will be screened from hereon, since she obviously lacks the necessary skills to do this herself. An accomplishment, I might add, which makes me wonder if her academic achievements so far should not be put under serious review.’

 

He stalked away without waiting for the answer. On his way to the door, he withdrew twenty points from Gryffindor for creating a chaos in his cupboard. Ron, lacking the time to search through the potions and being unsure which one Professor Snape needed, had simply brought everything that was on the shelf in question. ‘Poppy,’ Snape nodded curtly in passing.

 

Madam Pomfrey nodded back.

 

‘Well,’ Flitwick squeaked. ‘I will take my leave also, unless you need me to do anything?’

 

‘I’ve got it covered,’ Poppy stated. ‘Thank you both.’

 

Hermione went out of her way to thank them and to say she was sorry she caused them so much trouble. ‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ Flitwick said. ‘Nobody chooses to get cursed for the fun of it.’

 

‘It’s not your fault, Hermione,’ McGonagall reassured her. ‘If his curse got past the Hogwarts wards, it would have got past any check you could have done to your mail. Nobody blames you.’

 

Flitwick and McGonagall left, after they had both patted Hermione on her head and had bit her goodnight.

 

‘Now we can finally clean you up, my dear,’ Poppy said, closing the curtains around them.

 

In no time Hermione and the entire infirmary were spotless once more. Poppy supplied her with enough Anti-Vomiting Potion to last her a lifetime, and after Hermione had asked, the nurse placed a Dreamless Sleep Potion on her nightstand as well.

 

‘How are you really?’ Ron whispered from his bed when Poppy went back into her office.

 

‘A bit nauseous still,’ Hermione admitted. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

 

‘Since dinner.’

 

‘Twelve hours?’

 

‘Give or take. Harry and the others – you know Ginny, Neville and Luna – have sat beside your bed for awhile, until Professor Dumbledore made them leave. He said you were going to be fine, but he was wrong,’ Ron stopped. ‘You weren’t fine,’ he muttered.

 

‘They must have been worried.’

 

‘They were, but at least they weren’t around to see what happened to you later. When they were here, you were just lying still.’

 

‘Didn’t I do or say anything?’ asked Hermione, worriedly.

 

‘Well, not at first, but later you screamed a lot and you trashed around in bed. It was horrible. You were bleeding so hard,’ Ron whispered, scratching his neck nervously. ‘I-I thought you were going to die.’

 

‘Me too.’

 

‘It’s really beginning now, isn’t it?’ Ron asked. ‘The war I mean.’

 

‘Looks like it,’ Hermione replied. ‘How are your arms?’

 

‘Oh, almost better,’ Ron replied, shrugging.

 

They were silent for awhile.

 

‘We really are the pathetic ones, aren’t we?’ added Ron. ‘We just can’t seem to stay out of trouble.’

 

Hermione laughed. She couldn’t help it; Ron just brought that out in her. ‘You do realise that this is going to make Harry even more insufferable?’

 

Ron groaned. ‘He was already blaming himself yesterday evening. I heard him mumble, “First Sirius and now Hermione”.’

 

‘He needs to start talking to us, Ron.’

 

‘He will. When he is ready, he will.’

 

‘I hope you’re right.’

 

‘Do you think we could keep it a secret from him that you nearly died?’

 

‘Eh, if he is not talking to us…,’ Hermione replied, raising her hands.

 

Ron grinned.

 

‘The sun is already rising.’

 

‘Yeah, it’s been a long night,’ Ron said with a yawn.

 

‘You need to go sleep.’

 

‘Yes mum.’

 

Hermione stuck out her tongue; but not that much later, she heard the soft snores coming from Ron’s bed. His exhaustion had finally got the better of him. Hermione, on the other hand, tired as she was, didn’t feel like sleeping. She had too much to think about. Who had really supplied the vivid images she remembered? Had it really been her or was Voldemort playing her?

 

The latter was bound to be true either way.

 

Still, she knew a thing or two about Nightmare Curses and she knew the theory clearly said the victim supplied the majority of the dream contents. But maybe he had made modifications? It couldn’t have been her idea to do that, could it? God, she could still feel his hands on her body.

 

Hermione closed her eyes. She turned around in her bed. It wouldn’t be so damn bad if she hadn’t enjoyed it that much. Even right now, there was a part of her-

 

Ugh, she needed to stop thinking about it. Bleeding puppies, kittens in a bag tossed in a stream, Crookshanks dying; there, that’s the appropriate emotion. She only needed to hold on to it. Just hold on to it. Don’t think about…

 

If it had been her dream, her idea; what did that mean?

 

She sighed. She needed to stop doing this. It didn’t mean a damn thing. Tom Marvolo Riddle was a manipulative bastard, trying to drive her crazy so she would fail. Besides, Freud was a pre-occupied moron with a sex-complex. It was not like his theories still had any merit today. She didn’t really want to…

 

With a growl, Hermione turned around and grabbed the bottle of Dreamless Sleep. She decided on a double dose, and finally drifted off.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

When Dumbledore returned to his office, he immediately noticed the wards to stop the paintings from listening in were in place. He drew his wand and swirled around. With her hands raised high in the air, Li Mei grinned at him from one of the comfortable chairs in front of his parchment-covered desk.

 

‘Try not to be overly paranoid, Albus,’ she said, lowering her hands. ‘It’s not good for the heart.’

 

He sighed and pocketed his wand. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again this soon. Can I get you anything?’ asked Dumbledore, checking up on one of his silvery trinkets. It was puffing white smoke heavily. Dumbledore tapped on it twice and it quieted down, blowing out one last huge puff of smoke in his face reproachfully.

 

‘I have already helped myself to some tea,’ she replied, pointing to the cup on the side table. ‘Hope you don’t mind?’

 

‘Not at all,’ Dumbledore replied, pointing his wand at the teapot and pouring himself a cup too. ‘Saves me the trouble of waiting for it to draw.’

 

‘I thought you might be late, so I went to check on Hermione Granger.’ Li crossed her legs, readjusted her red skirt, and leaned sideways in her chair, brushing her hand through her long grey hair.

 

‘You revealed your presence here to others?’ Dumbledore asked, frowning.

 

‘Well, I almost had to. She wasn’t doing to well. For a second there, I was sure she was going to die.’

 

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

‘Yeah, I know. I think the only explanation is that he grossly underestimated the girl’s powers. But her condition bettered just when I wanted to reveal myself, so we’re still in the clear. Though I am sure Healer Abercrombie will expect you to boost to the world about his marvellous healing powers.’

 

‘Agrippa’s ego would demand nothing less than absolute adoration,’ Dumbledore said, chuckling, before he turned serious. ‘I didn’t think Tom would be so foolish to actually take the risk of her dying. It would have been the end for him.’

 

‘We all error,’ Li said shrugging.

 

Dumbledore sighed and sat down. ‘You don’t say,’ he muttered annoyed, taking a sip of his tea.

 

‘It was a good plan,’ Li said, leaning forward reassuringly. ‘But you should have let me help from the start.’

 

Dumbledore shook his head. ‘We wouldn’t have been able to explain your help away, Mei. It would have looked exactly what it was, premeditated murder. However, under the pretence of Article Nine being active, a little premature duel between me and Tom… Well, we knew he would take the bait. He could never pass on the opportunity to kill me and get away with it. If Gellert wasn’t such a scaredy-cat, I could have finished this.’

 

‘It wouldn’t have been over.’

 

‘It would have bought Harry time.’

 

Li Mei gave Dumbledore a long searching look. ‘After everything that boy has done already, you still don’t think he’s ready?’

 

‘I have faith in Harry, Mei. He’s quite extraordinary; and I do believe when he realises what needs doing, that he will rise to the occasion. But there are still too many variables, too many things that can go wrong. I have to narrow the playing field before they meet again.’

 

‘Not everything is your responsibility, Albus.’

 

‘This is, Mei, this is.’

 

They both took another sip in silence, until Li Mei nodded and put her cup down. ‘A wise man once said that for evil to flourish all it needs are good men doing nothing. I’d like to add that doing the right thing is also an issue.’

 

‘You think I am going about this the wrong way?’ asked Dumbledore, staring at her seriously over his half-moon spectacles.

 

‘I think you try to do too much yourself. There is strength in numbers, Albus. We can’t possibly search the entire planet for his Horcruxes with just the two of us – not if he really made that many.’

 

‘If we get more help, it will leak out. Tom has an uncanny ability to elicit information from people. If he realises we know…’ Dumbledore lifted his hands up in surrender.

 

‘Yes, then we are screwed. But if we don’t find the damn things, we are screwed either way. You know it is only a matter of time before he zones in on the Council. With our vacant seat, we are much more vulnerable to a takeover. If he can get rid of you, too, before that seat is filled with a proper light candidate...’ Mei shook her head, obviously distressed enough by the thought not to finish her sentence immediately. She rallied up though, and continued, ‘I don’t even want to be thinking of the possibilities he has if he can establish full control over the Council. Every dark candidate will follow him if he sells them some cockamamie story of sharing the power.’

 

‘I doubt they will all buy it,’ Dumbledore said, relaxing back in his chair.

 

‘But enough of them will go for it, Albus. Actually, only Gellert may turn him down, but that’s because Gellert knows he doesn’t stand a chance against  _Him_ – not without a wand anyway. You know what a bunch of opportunistic bastards these dark wizards and witches are. They’ll say yes to him, thinking it will be their ticket to the power, getting it into their thick skulls they can overthrow him someday. And right now, we are sorely outnumbered.’

 

‘I know,’ Dumbledore replied gravely, showing Li Mei he understood her concerns. ‘But there is nothing we can do at the moment to change that. The procedure to become a Keeper is lengthy. We do have the advantage of having two of our candidates in the running against one of theirs, and I have to give Gellert some credit for his choice. He didn’t pick a fully dark wizard and he made me a guide to him. I believe it’s possible to swing Draco Malfoy to our side.’

 

‘You think Gellert did that deliberately?’ asked Mei, puzzled. ‘Isn’t that a bit wishful thinking on your end?’

 

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Maybe it is, but it’s…’ He fell silent. ‘It’s the things he says sometimes. I can’t really put my finger on it, but there is a difference with how he used to act. However, Gellert is not the issue here. We have bigger problems than his state of mind.’

 

‘Speaking of those bigger problems, mind explaining why you picked You-Know-Who as Hermione’s guide,’ Li Mei demanded, folding her arms over each other sternly.

 

‘Not you too.’

 

‘Who else complained to you?’

 

‘Basically everybody who has had the opportunity so far,’ Dumbledore said, smiling as if it was not an unexpected outcome. ‘But Tom is the only choice.’

 

‘No, he isn’t. I know you had to choose one from the dark side, but anyone else would have been better than him.’

 

‘You picked Sharasvati Nathaira for your candidate. I daresay she is not much better than Tom.’

 

‘My candidate is a pureblood. I would never have handed anyone over to Nathaira who wasn’t. I know what she would do to them. Besides, Nathaira is best suited for my candidate. She is extremely logical; and my candidate needs someone to outbalance her otherworldly ideas, otherwise she will never make it to the end of all the tests.’

 

‘Perhaps I picked the guide who would be best suited for my candidate?’ Dumbledore replied, tilting his head questioningly.

 

‘Come on; who do you think you are kidding here!? He’s a pureblood supremacist; and you are not only handing him a Muggle-born witch on a platter, but one who is friends with Harry Potter,’ Li Mei said, becoming somewhat agitated.

 

‘I am aware of the complicating factors, Mei. It really is redundant to point them out to me.’

 

‘Then for Merlin’s sake, why Albus? Why?’ Li asked, her voice higher than normal.

 

‘It has to be Tom. I have looked at it from every possible angle, but given Miss Granger’s character, her intelligence...,’ he trailed off, suddenly looking tired.  

 

‘Her intelligence,’ Mei repeated disbelievingly. ‘Are you saying Gellert couldn’t keep up? At least without his wand he couldn’t do her much harm. Without speaking ill of my candidate, yours really is the more powerful of the two. I’d prefer it if the light seat was taken by the most powerful candidate considering what we are facing. With You-Know-Who as Hermione’s guide, you know she is going to get hurt severely.’

 

‘But Gellert would let her fail miserably, Mei. He may not be able to hurt her as much, but he’d see her for the threat she is and he would not take the risk just to stroke his ego. He’d do what he’s obliged to do, but not a single bit more, and Hermione needs some guidance with her insecurities or she won’t make it to the end of the tests either.’

 

Li Mei frowned before she said, rather sarcastically, ‘And you think You-Know-Who will help her?’

 

A small smile appeared on Dumbledore’s face. ‘I know Tom better than you do, Mei. You hear the words, but you do not see the man. He is not the pureblood supremacist he lets people believe he is.’

 

‘Oh, get real.’ Li Mei made a disparaging gesture with her hand. She picked up the tea biscuit she’d been saving, and started nibbling.

 

‘Tom rallies his campaign the way it’s most likely to gain him power. His followers may have killed their fair share of Muggles and Muggle-borns alike; but if you look at his personal kills, he has a far larger number of pureblood deaths on his hands than any other kind. He picks the half-blood over the pureblood child as the most likely threat, and he offers a Muggle-born witch a chance to save her life. For a true pureblood supremacist, those things would be unthinkable. No, Tom is interested in one thing and one thing only, himself. If it suits his interests, he will change his credo in a second – no matter how contradictory or hypocritical it may seem.’ Dumbledore halted his speech, smiling softly to himself, while stroking his beard. ‘He’s not going to be able to resist the temptation once he realises what Hermione is truly capable of.’ 

 

‘The temptation?’ Mei repeated slowly, until it dawned on her what Dumbledore was saying and horror filled her face. ‘If he swings her Albus, my hand to God, I will rip your beard from your head one hair at the time!’

 

Dumbledore laughed full-throated. ‘I think you’ll have to get to the back of the line; lots of people want to get there first.’

 

‘Ah, but do they know exactly where you keep your lemon drops?’ Mei said, waving her finger at him threateningly.

 

‘Now that’s below the belt.’

 

‘You have no idea how low I can go.’

 

‘I’ll make it my mission in life not to find out.’

 

‘That would be very wise.’

 

The many years of friendship between the two lay solid in the air, while they smiled at each other, exchanging witty banter, until Li Mei’s face sobered and she said seriously, ‘I mean it Albus. I will not be amused if our best candidate becomes a Keeper of the dark.’

 

‘I never took you for a light-dark purist before.’

 

Mei scowled.

 

‘We all know in the end it is the candidate who decides on the path ahead, not us,’ Dumbledore added.

 

‘Yeah, that’s all pretty in theory, but we also know environment is key to the outcome.’

 

‘Environment, upbringing, genes, the good old nature-nurture debate. One I actually don’t have time to go into right now,’ said Dumbledore, glancing at the old grandfather clock on the wall.

 

‘And, on that subtle note, I shall take my leave,’ Mei said, whipping out her wand.

 

‘Let me know if you find out anything useful in Asia,’ Dumbledore added, getting out of his chair too.

 

‘So far it’s all been a dead end there, Albus. We don’t have a lot of Hogwarts memorabilia anyway. A lot of other valuable magical historical items, but not what you say he would be after. Besides, I have followed his travels to and fro, nothing. I think he was done with his Horcruxes long before he came to our side of the world.’ 

 

‘I know for sure he was still at least one down, maybe two, Mei.’

 

‘How can you possibly know these things?’

 

‘I have my sources,’ Dumbledore replied mysteriously.

 

‘Well, I hope they’re better than mine, because I keep coming up empty,’ Mei replied, somewhat disgruntled she didn’t get a real answer.

 

‘Empty also narrows the field.’

 

‘I guess so,’ Mei conceded. ‘See you around my friend.’ She twirled around, and with a puff of white smoke, she was gone from the Head’s Office.

 

‘I hope so, Li Mei, I duly hope so.’

 

Dumbledore removed Li Mei’s wards before he left for Azkaban prison. He had an appointment with one of the prisoners there, a certain Mr Gaunt.

 

\---

 

When Hermione woke, the sun was high up in the sky. Ron was nowhere to be seen. It seemed only Umbridge, who was staring pointedly at the ceiling, and nurse Pomfrey, who was mighty pleased with Hermione’s recovery, were here to keep her company. She asked the nurse about Ron and got told he’d been healed enough to be discharged from the infirmary and sent back to class. Hermione broke out in giggles, knowing how much Ron wanted to ditch the last lessons of the year. Poppy Pomfrey seemed to take Hermione’s behaviour as an indication everything was not as well as it seemed. Clearly people do not laugh when others have regained their health.

 

So, much to her annoyance, Hermione got a thorough check-up before Poppy finally decided nothing bad was happening and she asked Hermione if she wanted anything to eat. Hermione thought she would never ask. She was famished. When Poppy returned with an empty plate and placed it on her bed-table, Hermione knew just what she wanted; a pile of cucumber sandwiches, several sausages, pancakes draped in syrup, chocolate muffins and brownies, a large kidney pie, scrambled eggs on a big slice of delicious Turkish bread (just like her mother always made them), and finally for dessert, a huge bowl of chocolate-and-vanilla ice-cream with whipped cream and cherry-liquor. This was heaven. She enjoyed it so much; she never heard them coming.

 

‘Wow, Hermione, mind if I take-’

 

‘Eh!’ shouted Hermione, slapping Ron’s hand away from her last muffin. ‘Get your own. I am saving that one for later.’

 

Ron mock pouted.

 

‘How are you, Hermione?’ asked Harry quietly, while sitting down carefully on the rickety chair beside her bed.

 

Hermione looked up and gave him a big smile. ‘I am okay, Harry, really. It’s not like we’ve never been cursed before.’

 

Harry gave her a weak smile back. ‘We brought your stuff,’ he said, nodding to her schoolbag that lay beside her bed. ‘We thought you might … you know, want to have it here.’

 

Her chest suddenly filled with warmth. ‘That’s so considerate of you both,’ she said, wanting to hug them insane for bringing her school supplies to her when she knew it would never have been their choice to do homework if they had a chance to get out from under it.

 

‘Don’t look at me,’ Ron said bluntly, pulling over a chair that had stood beside the bed on the opposite wall. ‘It was all Harry’s idea. I am not foolish enough to carry your bag around. I like my spine to stay vertical.’

 

Hermione stuck out her tongue to him.

 

Ron grinned. Behind the boys, Ginny stood hesitantly in the doorway, not sure she should interrupt.

 

‘Hi Ginny,’ Hermione said, waving her over with her spoon. ‘Want some ice-cream?’

 

‘Eh,’ Ron objected, while a relieved Ginny came over. ‘Why does she get some?’

 

‘Because she is not trying to steal my food.’

 

‘Not for me,’ Ginny said, shaking her head. ‘I already had lunch, but I am really glad to see you eating.’

 

Hermione shrugged and said loosely, ‘Nothing brings on an appetite as getting cursed by You-Know-Who.’

 

‘Not funny,’ Harry said, while Ron chuckled.

 

‘So, you’re all right now?’ asked Ginny, giving her a searching look.

 

‘Never been better.’

 

‘Really, Hermione,’ Harry said, leaning forward. His chair creaked in protest. ‘We were so worried. Are you sure you are all right?’

 

‘I’ll be just fine if Ron keeps his greedy paws of my muffin.’

 

Quickly, Ron withdrew his hand. ‘Greedy, me?’ he said, pointing his head to the display of food. ‘I beg to differ.’

 

‘You’d eat this much too if you had been out of it for days,’ Harry said, sticking up for Hermione.

 

‘He eats like that all the time,’ Ginny commented, slapping Ron on the head. ‘If he had been unconscious till the vacation, they would need to hire more House-elves to serve his appetite.’

 

Hermione froze; her spoon of ice-cream halfway to her mouth. ‘Till the vacation?’ she asked uncertainly. ‘What do you mean? How long have I been asleep?’

 

Her three visitors turned silent. They glanced at each other nervously. ‘Well, Hermione,’ Harry started carefully.

 

‘Oh great!’ Neville said, coming into the infirmary with Luna. ‘You’re awake, just in time for the end-of-term feast tomorrow.’

 

Ron groaned.

 

‘The end-of-term feast!’ Hermione squeaked, throwing her spoon in the bowl and pushing the food-filled bed-table aside. ‘It’s tomorrow?’

 

‘Yes,’ Luna said happily, ‘finally vacation. My dad and I are going to search for-’

 

‘Tomorrow! Only one more day, I have only one more day. I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore. Why did I sleep this long? Why didn’t anyone wake me? I don’t have time to sleep. I missed so much,’ babbled Hermione, while throwing of her blankets and swinging her legs out of bed.

 

‘It’s the final week,’ Neville said, surprised with the blatant panic and trying to comfort her. ‘We didn’t get anything you don’t already know how to do. Even I knew everything we covered and that’s me. You’re brilliant.’

 

Hermione didn’t seem to hear him; she was busy putting on her slippers and dressing gown, while muttering to herself about lost time.

 

Harry and Ron shared a glance of mutual understanding. They weren’t even trying. They knew better.

 

‘Are you supposed to be out of bed already?’ Ginny said sternly, trying to get Hermione to stop going through her belongings, while glaring at the boys for not being much help.

 

Ron scratched his neck, rolling his eyes, while Harry merely looked apologetically and shrugged in response. Ginny growled, frustrated, ‘Boys.’

 

‘Arithmancy, I need to get my Arithmancy books. Ah, there they are. I am never going to get that assignment done on time.’

 

‘Hermione, you were cursed. Professor Vector won’t mind if you skip one assignment because of it. You need to heal,’ Ginny said, snatching the books from Hermione’s hands.

 

Ron’s eyes widened. Demonstratively, he moved his chair as far back as he could – far, far away from what he clearly deemed to be his foolish sister. Neville laughed. Harry stood up, trying to get between the two girls.

 

‘I don’t have time for this, Ginny,’ Hermione hissed; she reached for the books, but Ginny darted out of range easily. She’d been dodging Fred and George for years; one Hermione was no challenge.

 

‘I agree,’ Ginny said, standing behind Harry now, ‘you need to get back in bed.’

 

Harry nodded in affirmation of Ginny’s statement.

 

‘Fine,’ Hermione acknowledged.

 

Ron raised his eyebrows.

 

‘Fine. It’s not like the library doesn’t have those anyway,’ she muttered, swinging her heavy bag over her shoulder to prevent further loss of items.

 

Ron roared with laughter. Harry and Ginny were not so amused and neither was nurse Pomfrey. She came out of her office, seeing Harry and Ginny dragging an angry Hermione back to bed, while three others were having a laughing fit. ‘Why what is going on here?’ she said, shocked. ‘You are not to be out of bed, until Healer Abercrombie has cleared it.’

 

Ginny’s head made a firm nod in agreement with that statement. ‘Exactly what we said.’

 

‘Yeah, ’cause there is no place better to be after you’ve been cursed with a nightmare than a bed,’ Hermione muttered sarcastically, getting back in there reluctantly, knowing she was outnumbered.

 

Ron snorted, while Harry seemed pained.

 

‘If this is your influence on my patient, disturbing her rest, you can all leave,’ Poppy threatened.

 

‘We tried to get her back in bed,’ Ginny objected.

 

Harry nodded in support, while the others suddenly became still. They didn’t want to be send from the infirmary either. Nurse Pomfrey watched them one at the time, judging their demeanour. In the end they were all allowed to stay  _if_  they kept it calm. Judging from the way the nurse kept glaring at them, while she went to check on her other patient, it had better be the case or else...

 

Ron whistled underneath his breath. ‘Close call,’ he said. ‘Not that we were the ones disturbing the patient, the patient does not need our help making a ruckus,’ he added, making fun of her.

 

‘You’d best remember that, Ron,’ Hermione replied, pointing her finger in his chest.

 

He raised his hands in surrender.

 

‘I had a nightmare once,’ Luna stated in her usual out-of-the-blue method. ‘It was really disturbing.’

 

‘I bet,’ Ron coughed behind his hand.

 

‘There were Wrackspurts everywhere and I couldn’t run away. They were eating my brain alive. Was yours as scary?’ she asked Hermione thoughtfully.

 

Hermione nodded. ‘Though I don’t remember everything of it,’ she added quickly, opening a soda can. If she had to remain in bed, there was no need to stay thirsty.

 

‘Can I have one of those cokes?’ asked Ginny.

 

‘Sure.’ Hermione tossed Ginny a can.

 

‘Professor Lupin told us Nightmare Curses are much like Boggarts,’ Neville remembered.

 

‘Then we all know what Hermione dreamed about,’ Ron laughed, remembering her Boggart. ‘Fail grades, ooooo scary,’ he mocked, wiggling his hands in the air.

 

‘Yeah, falling to the ground from high up in the sky after he dropped me was a real ball,’ Hermione said, wanting to wipe that smile of Ron’s face. Really, didn’t he realise how insensitive that remark was?

 

‘BANG!’

 

Ron jumped to his feet when cola sprayed all over him. ‘EH! Watch what you’re doing!’ he yelled to Ginny, who stood there with a dented soda can clutched in her hand, cola still streaming over her frozen fingers. A flash of horror crossed Ginny’s face, while she stared at Hermione – not hearing Ron’s complaints to Harry. ‘Look what she did to my last clean shirt,’ Ron said, showing his destroyed clothes to his best friend.

 

Harry pretended to be very sympathetic to his ordeal.

 

‘That always happens to me when I try opening them,’ said Neville to no one in particular.

 

Hermione paled, realising what she had said. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know who had been in her dream and now she had accidentally given it away to Ginny. It was obvious from her demeanour she had come to the right conclusion whom he was. Horror made it to Hermione’s face as well. Her eyes desperately tried to signal to Ginny not to say a word. She so did not need to talk about it. No, forgetting about it was the best course of action. Yeah, forgetting sounded just about right. Maybe she could do a little memory charm later?

 

‘Do you need some help with that?’ Luna asked Ginny.

 

‘No-no,’ repeated Ginny, coming to her senses. ‘No, I-I wasn’t paying attention.’

 

‘You don’t say,’ muttered Ron, while Harry helped him get clean again with a wave of his wand.

 

With a quick gesture, Ginny had her wand out and vanquished the can as well as cleaned her environment. ‘I,’ she met Hermione’s eyes. ‘I must have put too much pressure on it. You know how impossible these cans can be to open.’

 

Hermione let out a breath in relief.

 

‘Really, like you’re not a witch,’ Ron mumbled.

 

‘Oh, don’t be such a baby, bro. It’s not like you have to do your own cleaning.’

 

‘I said not to be a disturbance in this infirmary,’ Poppy Pomfrey called out, closing the bed-curtains around Umbridge again. ‘You can all leave now.’

 

There was a lot of protest and objection to that, but in the end they all left disgruntled, picking up their bags and slouching out. Ginny seemed to take very long to regain her belongings. For some mysterious reason, her bag had ripped apart. Under the watchful eye of madam Pomfrey, Ginny finally mended it and had everything pocketed again when she was the last to say goodbye to Hermione. She waited for a moment and then hesitantly said, ‘If you want to talk, I won’t mind listening and … if you don’t, I-I understand.’

 

Without waiting for Hermione’s reply, she left in a hurry, shooed out by madam Pomfrey, who chased her all the way to the door. Later that day Healer Abercrombie declared Hermione fit enough to leave the infirmary and she had immediately searched out Professor Dumbledore.

 

However embarrassing and dreadful the situation with Ginny had been, it was nothing compared to Hermione’s next meeting with Albus Dumbledore,  _noooothing_. She wondered why she even had had her hopes up in advance. She had thought that her near-death experience might have made him change his mind about not helping her get another guide. She had thought he would be sympathetic to her idea of using the library during the summer vacation. Didn’t she know better by now? After this entire year of hell, she should have realised if your last name wasn’t Potter, Dumbledore could care less. No, that’s was kind of unfair to Harry. It was not like he was any better off. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion Dumbledore kept even more secrets from Harry. She felt like pulling her hair out in frustration.

 

Dumbledore had said that she had the obligation to follow the instructions of the Council; that her guide was chosen with great care and consideration.

 

She had snorted loudly then.

 

He had merely looked at her over his half-moon spectacles and had ended their discussion by stating that if she needed help, she knew how to contact her guide.

 

_Yeah, all of Hell could freeze over first before she did that._

 

That evening Hermione sat in the library, glanced at the books in front of her, and sighed. Why did they have to give an impossible assignment now? All the others had been easy pickings as far as she was concerned. Sure, she could write the essay using the theory in “The Reality of Magic”, but it wouldn’t be right. She glanced over at Draco Malfoy, who was packing his bags to leave. He had been the only one in the library beside her, writing fervently at a desk in the corner. Where he got his copy of “The Reality of Magic” from was blatantly obvious, but she knew it was a pile of rubbish anyway. He could copy the book to his heart desire for all she cared.

 

She groaned and hit her head on the books on her desk.  _Perhaps she should settle for a less than perfect answer?_

 

Her eyes glanced to the thick, white envelopes in her bag. For a second, she considered it. Then sanity returned in a rush.  _Hell no, it would be too damn embarrassing._

 

But what if that had been the whole point of the dream, to keep her away?  _Yeah, like he needed to do “that” to keep people from avoiding him._

 

Oh, what did it matter? If it was good enough for Malfoy, she could use the theory too. It wasn’t like his essay was going to be better anyway.

 

Hermione opened “The Reality of Magic” and began copying parts of the text. She did alright, until she reached the part on the basic laws of magic. “Spells travel always at a constant velocity”, she copied and broke her quill in annoyance.

 

There was no empirical data, no proof to the law’s validity, nothing, nada, zip; and she just didn’t believe it. It was in complete contradiction to Isaac Newton’s first law, which stated that a body remained stationary or moved at a constant velocity if there was no force placed upon it. But when you cast a spell, Hermione was pretty darn convinced you placed magical force behind it. So, spells had to have acceleration by principle. They couldn’t travel at constant velocity.

 

Perhaps she should consider getting His help? _Yeah, right. He probably didn’t believe Newton anyway – Muggle physics; how dare you apply them to the holy institute of magic?_

 

She snorted and got back to staring at the already written words on her parchment. She could do this. Not everything had to be perfect. She grabbed another quill, dipped it in ink and … scratched out her last sentence furiously. She could not do it. Hermione Jean Granger does not write rubbish when she recognises it for what it is. Not even to stay away from Lord Voldemort. She closed her eyes; she really couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

 

Oh well, she guessed he couldn’t possibly do much worse to her than he already had. She pulled the specially made Keepers’ cards and envelopes from her bag, and planted them in front of her. What on earth was she going to put on there?

 

Nothing too demure.  _She was not one of his moronic followers after all._

Nothing too bold either.  _She didn’t fancy another trip to the infirmary._

 

She stared at the card and had no idea how to bring up the subject of a meeting; let alone ask for his help. She pushed the card aside and grabbed an envelope. She could address it first and then get back to her dilemma.  _Oh Godric, she had no idea what to call him._

 

Tom M. Riddle was out of the question; _see previous statement about trips to the infirmary._ Lord Voldemort would be like acknowledging his self-claimed title;  _not to mention that he seemed to get a bit tetchy at people who actually dared to call him that._  The Dark Lord was something his Death Eaters called him. Master; _definitely not._ You-Know-Who seemed a bit silly to write to the person himself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a bit too wordy. She was all out of options.

 

Perhaps something that referred to his Keeper status?

 

To my guide;  _nope, too possessive – she was bound to end up in excruciating pain then_. To Keeper – er –;  _well, that was no help either._

 

Oh, screw it, he’d probably find an excuse to curse her anyway – not that he needed one.

 

She grabbed one of the white cards again and wrote only a date, time and place. She, then, placed the card into one of the envelopes, looked at it for a moment, and decided “The Dark Lord” was the most neutral of all her choices. Eh, if you thought of it carefully, the only estate he had, which allowed him to use the title Lord legitimately, came from his father side of the family. Though it would probably be wise not to mention the fact that, whichever name he used, it was still connected to his Muggle ancestors. Hermione snickered briefly, while she sealed the envelope with her wand and checked the library was thoroughly empty before calling out the Keepers’ owl by saying its name, Nebi.

 

With a cracking sound (much alike the apparition of a House-elf), Nebi appeared before her, flapping its wings. She handed out her “letter” to the small Tengmalm’s owl and it disappeared directly before she had a chance to change her mind.

 

_Merlin’s pants, what had she done?_

 

But there was nothing she could do about it anymore. She had to go. Summoning the Dark Lord to a meeting was one thing, subsequently standing him up at said meeting another thing entirely. Detrimental was the word that came to mind, or better yet, lethal. After all, she wouldn’t be his apprentice forever; that bit of security would someday cease to exist. She already could envision her future body plummeting to the ground lifelessly if she failed to show up tonight. 

 

-


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Sweet Salazar, someone save him from the utter boredom of having to listen to this pompous moron much longer._

 

Deacon Dorotheos Eugene Windshire was only an assistant of an assistant of an assistant to Amilia Bones’s Head of Security; but from the way he spoke, you’d think he was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement instead of the blasted woman.

 

‘And then I reprimanded him for not thoroughly checking her exit and entry,’ said Dorotheos proudly. ‘We wouldn’t want You-Know-Who’s followers to enter the Auror Office after all.’

 

‘No, that would be a shame,’ Lord Voldemort replied, smiling over the irony of the situation.

 

Dorotheos took the smile for an encouragement and continued babbling to the pretty woman at the other side of the table about the very importance of his tasks at work. He couldn’t believe his luck when he had spotted her, sitting at his usual table in Fortescue’s ice cream parlour, ordering a Dame Blanche – his favourite too. It had given him a wonderful opening to start a conversation with Nathalia. He had practically swooned over the husky voice that spoke the name. She was precisely his type, a blue-eyed blonde with a gorgeous body in a sexy red dress. He hoped that if he could impress her, he was going to get lucky tonight. He hadn’t got laid in ages.

 

Nathalia, formerly known as Lord Voldemort, leaned forward, showing a considerable amount of cleavage, while she scooped her ice-cream in a languid, seductive manner.

 

_The things you do for power._

 

The Dark Lord had gone through quite a couple of extensive transformations, including a thorough sex change, in order to establish contact with this particular public servant. Yaxley had informed him the man had properly witnessed every aspect of the defences surrounding Amelia Bones’s house, but he could not get him to talk about the details without arousing suspicion to his credentials. Yaxley had also told him that Dorotheos was a flirt and an annoying chatterbox around women. His Death Eater hadn’t been exaggerating, unfortunately. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and wondered how the hell women dealt with this nonsense. He was going to do a huge service to every female alive if –  _no_  – when he killed the babbling fool.

 

However, first things first, he had to get the information he desperately needed. Bones was becoming too much of a threat and had her office too good under control to leave her alive. Time for action. From the drooling looks the idiot was giving him, it was crystal-clear he was going to fall right into his trap.

 

Nathalia placed her spoon in her now empty bowl and picked up her bag from the ground to get her purse out.

 

‘Oh no, allow me,’ said Dorotheos, hastily pulling out his own wallet. ‘A lady should never have to pay in the company of men.’

 

_Merlin, in what century did this imbecile live?_

 

‘Why thank you, you’re a true gentleman,’ said Nathalia, smiling.

 

She put her purse back, while Dorotheos quickly put the right amount plus tip down on the table for Florean. They got up simultaneously. Nathalia tilted her head, questioningly.

 

‘I wouldn’t be a true gentleman if I let a pretty lady walk to her house alone in these dangerous times, would I?’ Dorotheos said, trying to be smooth and failing miserably.

 

‘You’re concern is touching.’  _And completely unnecessary, unless it is for your own pitiful life._

 

Gently, she laid her hand on Dorotheos’s upper arm. ‘But my house is abroad and hotel rooms are so impersonal, don’t you think?’ Nathalia asked, implying to unspoken deeds.

 

The man practically seemed to explode with excitement. ‘Oh-I-yes-yes, you’re quite right. I – er – my house is j-just around the corner,’ Dorotheos stuttered, turning red.

 

_Pathetic._

 

‘If you want, I can get you – erm – some coffee?’ Dorotheos added unsurely.

 

‘I’d love some … coffee,’ Nathalia replied suggestively. She turned around and picked up her coat from the back of the chair. ‘Why don’t you escort me to your place then?’

 

‘I’d be delighted,’ replied Dorotheos. ‘Oh, allow me.’

 

For a second, there was almost a struggle over Nathalia’s coat, but then Voldemort controlled his temper, remembering the goal he had set out before. ‘Thank you again,’ said Nathalia through gritted teeth.

 

‘You’re welcome,’ Dorotheos replied gullibly.

 

As Dorotheos held the door for her, Nathalia noticed Florean Fortescue watching them – a bit too long to her taste. She hooked her arm in Dorotheos’s and leaned against him flirtingly. They walked out, giggling and touching. Hopefully, Fortescue would think something less charitable of Nathalia. If not, there were always other measures to take.

 

Outside it was unbelievably quiet. Nobody saw them walking together. Soon, they arrived at Dorotheos’s flat. His wand came out and he began lowering his wards in haste. ‘This takes a while,’ he explained, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I have installed some of our Unspeakables’ latest inventions on my own flat too. It’s not exactly allowed, but you understand … with everything that is going on these days...’

 

Nathalia a.k.a. Lord Voldemort understood perfectly.

 

Finally, the door opened, and with an overly exaggerated flourish, Dorotheos bit her to enter. Nathalia walked in, her eyes taking in the environment quickly. The door closed and the wards kicked back in place automatically. Nathalia turned and raised her eyebrows at him.

 

‘Nice, don’t you think?’ Dorotheos said proudly, as if he had created it himself. ‘It saves so much time not having to redo them yourself upon entering.’

 

‘I can imagine,’ Nathalia replied happily.  _Very convenient, now he wouldn’t have to silence the area himself._

 

‘Well, obviously this is my hallway; huge don’t you think?’ Dorotheos walked ahead, his arms gesturing around to show off his belongings, not noticing Nathalia was pulling out her wand. ‘The bathroom is on your left and you can put your coat here, in my hall closet,’ Dorotheos babbled, turning around with the door in hand. His eyes widened when he saw the wand pointed right at him. ‘W-what?’

 

‘Why don’t you tell me all about the security measures around Amelia Bones’s house?’ Nathalia said coldly, disarming him with a flick of her wrist.

 

‘But-but I thought you…,’ Dorotheos trailed off, looking stunned.

 

‘Please,’ Nathalia sneered. ‘Don’t tell me you ever got a real woman to go home with you after she had to listen to that incessant chatter of yours?’

 

Dorotheos turned bright red.

 

Nathalia snorted. ‘As I expected.’

 

Anger made it to Dorotheos’s face and with it came an attempt at bravery. ‘I don’t know who you think you are; but if you think I am going to tell you anything, you are quite mistaken. I am a well-trained professional. You’ll get nothing from me.’

 

‘Is that so?’ Nathalia mocked. ‘Well, then perhaps you ought to know who you’re talking to?’

 

Her wand whipped through the air. A flash; smoke twirled around Nathalia’s body, obscuring her from sight for a second. A loud  _bang_  followed; Dorotheos ducked, wrapping his arms over his head to take cover from the flying debris. As the smoke cleared, and it seemed safe again, he lowered his arms to see. Immediately he wished he hadn’t, because before him stood a tall figure in dark robes with very pronounced features, Lord Voldemort. Shaking with fear, Dorotheos dropped to his knees. ‘P-p-please.’

 

‘Now, Mr Professional,’ Voldemort sneered. ‘Mrs Bones’s security plans and fast, I don’t have all night.’

 

It didn’t take all night. In fact it took less than a couple of seconds, after which Dorotheos Windshire would have given up his own mother to make it stop. The man was a first class wimp. But he had what he needed now; he just had to wait till Amelia Bones was back in the country from her trip oversees. He used the Imperius curse on Windshire to not arouse suspicion at his place of work, and left – Apparating straight through the wards. He would have his Death Eaters deal with the man, once he had finished off the real target. With a crack, he arrived back at the Malfoy residence.

 

Narcissa Malfoy hurried towards him. She dropped to one knee. ‘My Lord, Severus Snape is in the lounge, awaiting your arrival, and.’

 

The rest of the woman’s words were a blur to him. Severus? Uhmm… He had told Snape to notify him when Granger reached consciousness again, after hearing how badly she had got hurt, which in itself was most unexpected. He hadn’t meant for Severus to come in person though. He thought an owl would suffice.

 

Still, if Severus was here now, then it had taken quite awhile for her to wake – again much longer than expected. He had to admit, it peeked his curiosity. The best method of healing completely after wakening from a Nightmare Curse was sleep. It was one of the reasons the curse in question was often so lethal. Its victims didn’t want to dream again and did everything to avoid the one thing their magical powers needed for restoration; sleep. The more there was to restore, the longer it took for the person to wake. It was strange. He remembered the girl’s pathetic hexes, jinxes and curses she had thrown his way. There had been no indication whatsoever she should need this long to restore her magic. There had been no considerable force behind her spells at all.

 

Absentmindedly, he tapped with his wand on his hand. It was when he realised Narcissa was still here. He looked down. The woman was no longer talking; instead she was eyeing his wand nervously. Good, very good.

 

‘Severus Snape can await my arrival a bit longer. I have to get the stench of that ministerial coward of me.’ Lord Voldemort moved past her.

 

‘And what should I tell Bella?’ asked Narcissa demure.

 

Bellatrix was here too? Oh boy, that would be one cosy get-together. He should make pictures for posterity. ‘They can both await their Lord’s arrival, unless, Narcissa, you are suggesting they have a problem in doing so?’

 

Narcissa swallowed visibly. ‘No, my Lord, of course not.’

 

‘Glad to hear it,’ he replied sarcastically, moving up the stairs. 

 

‘My Lord, my husband.’

 

‘What about him?’ Voldemort snapped, stopping in his tracks. If that woman so much as thought the suggestion that he should save him from Azkaban, she would regret it severely – again.

 

‘Lucius and I were thinking it would be best if Draco went to advanced summer classes in America. I read they have-’

 

‘Nonsense, Hogwarts has the finest education around. No, I think it would be best if Draco got home this summer. After all, it wouldn’t do for this house to be vacant of a Malfoy man for long, and since Lucius isn’t around and obviously doesn’t apply for the position, I suppose it is time for his son to step up to the plate.’

 

A vile smile made its way to Voldemort’s face, as he turned around and saw the clear horror on Narcissa’s. Oh, they were going to pay for ruining his chance of obtaining that prophecy, losing their sole heir seemed like a very good trade in his eyes. So he said softly, ‘I look forward to make his acquaintance very much, Narcissa. It would be in Draco’s best interest if you did not disappoint me by trying to send him away. I would be most displeased and you wouldn’t want to displease Lord Voldemort, would you Narcissa?’  

 

Narcissa shook her head and softly mumbled something that sounded like she would never do such an unthinkable thing.

 

‘I am glad it’s settled then,’ Voldemort added viciously.

 

There were no more disturbances from Narcissa Malfoy after that and he went up to take a long, luxurious bath, feeling mighty damn pleased with how the day was turning out. When he finally entered the lounge, he noticed his previous thoughts on cosiness had been spot on. Both Severus and Bellatrix had taken the farthest chair they could possibly find from each other and still be in the same room. They were each looking pointedly in another direction. It was clear that their mutual animosity had reached heights to which no Giant could ever hope to achieve. It was most entertaining.

 

‘Severus, Bella.’

 

They both jumped in shock. Obviously they mist his arrival. Quickly, they vacated their chairs to greet him appropriately.

 

He gestured to them to get up. ‘Have a seat, Bella,’ said Voldemort. ‘Severus, I wasn’t expecting you.’

 

Bella threw a suspicious glare in Snape’s direction.

 

‘I was under the impression you wanted to be informed when the Mudblood woke, Master,’ Snape said smoothly. ‘She woke today and I arrived here at my earliest convenience to bring you this bit of … unpleasant news.’

 

‘At your convenience,’ Bella hissed, outraged. ‘It’s our Lord’s convenience you should be taking into consideration.’

 

‘I wasn’t made aware this news was important enough to break my cover to Albus Dumbledore over,’ Snape said, his voice even, his eyes never leaving Voldemort; but it was obviously a snide put-down to Bella. ‘Otherwise I would have naturally arrived here at your earliest convenience, my Lord.’

 

Voldemort sat down behind the corner desk that Narcissa used to make crossword puzzles on during summer days. Placing his elbows on the smooth polished wooden surface and interlacing his fingers in front of him, he rested his chin on his hands. ‘Naturally,’ he repeated softly, staring straight into Severus’s eyes. ‘Did Hogwarts suddenly run out of owls?’

 

Severus seemed surprised. ‘No, of course not, Master, but I took into consideration you may have orders for me to fulfil and if those orders involve business at Hogwarts, then time is of the essence, since the end-of-term feast is tomorrow. Owlpost is not always as reliable as it used to be, especially in these days with Aurors running around left, right and centre.’

 

The man was good; he had to hand him that. Nothing to see but a blank wall, his emotions always in check, it was impossible to screen Severus Snape and be one-hundred percent sure of his allegiance. Still, all his stories kept checking out and he had always been a valuable Death Eater in the past. To kill him without absolute proof his loyalties had changed could be the biggest mistake of his life. A chance he was not yet willing to take, not with a possible spy in Dumbledore’s camp. He’d just have to keep monitoring the man’s moves and make sure he didn’t get any vital operations information.

 

‘I see,’ Voldemort said, finally breaking the silence. ‘Your consideration is most appreciated, but I do not-’

 

PLOF!

 

Bella jumped to her feet, drawing her wand in haste, while Severus merely turned his head. A blackened Tangmelm’s owl had landed on the ashes in chimney.

 

‘Put your wand down, Bella,’ said Voldemort, recognising the Keepers’ owl.  _What would those morons have to complain about this time?_

 

The owl hopped out the chimney, shaking its feathers to clear it from dust and debris. It flapped its wings, flew up and landed in front of Voldemort, holding out its paw. Voldemort narrowed his eyes when he identified the stationary. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t dare. He snatched the envelope from the now disgruntled owl’s paw. It flew away, snapping its beak in anger. But Voldemort only had eyes for the fine, tiny script on the somewhat blackened envelope, “ _The Dark Lord_ ”.

 

None of the other Keepers called him by that name. It had to be her. He had to give credit to the Sorting Hat on this one. She sure had some nerve; according to Severus she was just… Severus! He still had company – company that might be able to identify the handwriting! His eyes flew up, but both Bella and Severus stood in the exact same spot as before. It was not a position from which they would be able to read a thing, so he relaxed, slightly.

 

‘Get out,’ he ordered, waving with his hand to the door, while focussing his eyes back on the envelope.

 

‘Master?’ asked Bella, puzzled. ‘You need to know-’

 

‘Leave,’ Voldemort interrupted. ‘Both of you.’

 

Recognising that particular tone of voice from their Master and not being in the mood to be on the receiving end of his wand, they exited the lounge quickly. Narcissa was waiting outside.

 

‘I wouldn’t go in,’ Severus warned her.

 

‘I didn’t want to go in,’ Narcissa replied; her eyes and nose were red. ‘Bella, we need to talk.’

 

‘He didn’t listen. I have important information,’ Bella mumbled, distressed.

 

‘Then you better find a way to tell him, otherwise you’re bound to receive a repeat of what he did to you after your fiasco at the ministry,’ said Snape tauntingly.

 

‘My fiasco! My!’ Bella shouted, angry again.

 

‘Shhh, sis,’ Narcissa hushed, watching the door anxiously. ‘Please, we have to talk … in the living room.’ She looked at Severus. ‘You know you’re way out, don’t you?’

 

‘Of course, Narcissa. If there is anything I can do,’ Snape trailed off.

 

‘No, you can’t,’ Bella snapped, answering before Narcissa had a chance to speak, and dragging her sister away. ‘Stop being so nice to him just because he is Lucius’s friend. He’s not trustworthy,’ Snape heard Bella hiss before the living room door closed.

 

The untrustworthy one turned his head and glanced back, while stalking to the front door, wondering what was in that letter Lord Voldemort got. He’d have to make sure Dumbledore heard about it. Whatever was in it, it had to be important for him not to let Bellatrix give her report. Severus Snape had come all this way to find out for the Order if Bella had been successful in her mission, but he couldn’t think of an excuse to get him into hearing the report now. Blasted letter. If he ever found out who wrote it, he would have a “talk” with the writer.

 

Then, the lounge door exploded.

 

Snape conjured his shield just in time, for millions and millions of splinters hit it violently. Bella and Narcissa ran into the hallway, wands drawn. However, a furious Dark Lord swirled past them all, grabbing a coat while Apparating away instantaneously. Snape could have sworn he heard him mumble something that involved the terms insolent little girls. He shook his head. That couldn’t be right.

 

‘Bella, Narcissa,’ Snape said courteously, and he left the mansion, leaving the two baffled women behind. At least he had some news to tell Albus, even if he had no idea what had caused the Dark Lord’s tempter to explode about.

 

\---

 

Deja-vu.

 

Hermione felt mighty exposed, sitting on the same swing in the same park on a similar eerily dark night; again. Only now she knew whom she was meeting. That didn’t help. It also didn’t help that she had called the meeting. Call it a hunch, but she didn’t think Lord Voldemort would take it well to be summoned anywhere by anyone.

 

Crack.

 

Waves of irritation, annoyance and pure rage radiated of the Dark Lord.  _Yeah, as expected, he took it well._

 

Hermione’s hands tightened on the swing’s robes. She was like the little bird, watching the snake advance, fascinated, unable to move, hoping by staying still it would not eat you.  _Perfect odds indeed._  The only thing good about her current situation was that she could tell Albus Dumbledore “I told you so” if – correction – when she ended up in the infirmary again.

 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. She had tried to move the earth to get Dumbledore to allow her access to the Hogwarts library during the summertime, to get another guide, to do anything that would allow her to avoid this very moment. She couldn’t believe her headmaster wouldn’t help. After she had been cursed into oblivion by a mere letter her “guide” had sent; Dumbledore still expected her to be his apprentice. Did she have to be dead before he took her complaints seriously?

 

No, right now, her feelings toward the Hogwarts’ Headmaster were less than favourable, to say the least. Actually, she didn’t believe there was a single soul in the whole wide world who wanted to wring his beard around his neck more than her at this very moment.

 

Her vision turned black and it took her a moment to realise it was the colour of his robes. The Dark Lord stood right in front of her, only inches away, far too close for comfort. It took all of her restraint not to move back on the swing. The silence made the pounding of her heart more pronounced in her mind.

 

Damn it, why was she even here? She was Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age. This didn’t strike her as something smart people did. No, smart people stayed away from people who hated what you were enough to want you dead. But Dumbledore had given her no other option. She hoped he would choke on one of his lemon drops.

 

The uncomfortable silence kept continuing, filling the air with the terror of things to come. The wind occasionally brushed his robes against her legs, reminding her someone was standing in front of her; but she kept her eyes steady on her lap. She had to keep it together; she couldn’t panic now. How the Hell did Harry do this?

 

‘Is the magnificent Albus Dumbledore getting on your nerves?’ Lord Voldemort stated, breaking the silence.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened. Crap, shit, great; wasn’t there some rule against using Legilimency on your apprentice?

 

‘No, I am afraid for you and your feeble magical competence there isn’t, Hermione Granger. Not that I, Lord Voldemort, really need it to make the deduction; only Albus Dumbledore can turn that look on someone’s face.’ His creepy laugh filled the air around them.

 

She craned her neck to look up and meet his eyes. She could do this. She had to do this. She wasn’t going to show fear or embarrassment for that matter. It was his fault anyway.

 

Lord Voldemort leaned forward with a vicious smile on his face.

 

To Hell with it, she moved the swing back.

 

His hands folded around her wrists, and he pulled her up, trapping her against his body. Her breath stuck in her throat. ‘Now, care to explain why I am wasting my time here, Hermione Jean Granger?’ he said threatening, placing clear emphasis on every single syllable of her name.

 

‘I-I.’

 

‘What?’ he hissed softly.

 

She swallowed. ‘I need help,’ she whispered hoarse.

 

‘Undoubtedly.’

 

‘With my assignment,’ she added, barely getting the three simple words out her mouth.

 

The grip on her wrists tightened. A whimper escaped her lips, but he did not let go. He just looked at her with that piercing stare.

 

‘I told you not to bother me with insipid questions. You have the book I so generously lent you. I am sure you can copy and paste to everyone’s satisfaction. I have seen your expertise in that area when you delivered the answer to your third assignment,’ he said condescendingly, roughly shoving her away.

 

Hermione just kept her footing and she rubbed her wrists behind his back as he moved away from the swing. Fury began to bubble inside of her as the realisation of what he had said sank in.  _The third assignment? The third assignment! Oh, that was so unfair! He had no idea how much that assignment had frustrated her._

 

‘Do not-’

 

‘The third assignment was bogus,’ Hermione interrupted, her anger and frustration giving her the nerve to talk back. ‘You had to copy Milan’s book. It was the only answer in the way the question was worded. It’s not my fault you lot can’t ask the right questions. I was terribly tempted to just bring the book and be done with it.’

 

Voldemort turned and looked at her. He had brought Milan’s book all those years ago. Eh, a simple question deserved the simplest of answers. He’d never wasted energy on nonsense.

 

‘Every single one of those assignments is ridiculous,’ Hermione raged on. ‘And let’s not begin about all those silly,’ she made quotation marks in the air, ‘rules. We have to have absolute secrecy,’ she mimicked Keeper’s Volkova’s voice perfectly. ‘Well, perhaps it would be wise to be a bit more secretive about communications channels or travels for that matter, because I have been questioned about my whereabouts so many times now, I am surprised people are this gullible to still believe a word I say.’

 

Voldemort folded his arms over each other.

 

‘And now this book. Argh!’ she shouted out frustrated, pulling “The Reality of Magic” from underneath her coat. ‘It doesn’t make sense. It does not give the answer to the question.’

 

‘If it is too complicated for you, I don’t think any help would suffice,’ Voldemort replied demeaning.

 

Hermione growled. ‘I didn’t say it was too complicated, I said it didn’t make sense. I did the math; I rechecked my findings, and it is plain wrong.’

 

Voldemort stiffened.

 

Hermione didn’t notice the change in posture, she was too damn angry as she raged on and on and on. ‘McMullen’s Theory of Everything does not compute. You’d have to increase your magical powers by tenfold to make it work in reality. It’s undoable. And what’s with the rest of this book? The Reality of Magic, Hah! The Fiction of Magic would be a more appropriate title.’ She snorted. ‘The five basic laws of magic. They don’t care to explain why these are the five basic laws anyway; so why stop at five? What’s holding them back?’ she sneered sarcastically. ‘They don’t mind making contradictory statements all over this book anyway. Law number four; we can’t fly without aid, but we can levitate without it. If you levitate long enough and high enough, doesn’t that constitute as flying? And what’s with the determination that it is impossible to vary the speed of your spells? Most things in nature don’t travel at constant velocity. Did anyone ever bother to check their statement that spells travel at a constant velocity or-’

 

She halted abruptly when Voldemort swirled in front of her. ‘Did Dumbledore tell you?’ he hissed furiously.

 

‘W-What?’ Hermione stuttered; fear replaced anger in a heartbeat. If she hadn’t been so scared right now, the suggestion of Dumbledore telling her anything would have been extremely laughable.

 

He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. A bright red flash blinded her eyes. Suddenly, she was back in the library, making notes, feeling frustrated about the lack of consistency in the explanations in front of her. More memories flashed by; her reading “The Reality of Magic”; her remarks to Parvati and Lavender; the endless scroll of Arithmancy equations she made, which did not support the theory; her useless discussion with Dumbledore; and her inability to write an essay filled with laws she didn’t believe in. Until it stopped, just as abruptly as it started.

 

She shook all over. She felt like she was coming down with a fever of sorts. Sweat trickled down her spine, and she bent over to lean on her knees to catch her breath. When she was finally able to look up again, Lord Voldemort watched her with a calculated, shrewd expression.

 

‘What,’ breath, ‘was,’ breath, ‘that,’ another breath, ‘for?’ breath.

 

‘You know the whereabouts of the elementary school in your parents’ town which has the silly clowns’ theme?’  

 

Hermione froze. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

 

‘I see you do,’ Voldemort said coldly. ‘Be there. Four nights from now, three a.m. Pack all your Hogwarts belongings and anything else you may need. You won’t be going back any time soon.’

 

Hermione blinked.  _What?_  To say she felt confused was putting it mildly.

 

He started to turn away.

 

‘Wait!’ Hermione halted. ‘I-I don’t understand.’

 

He sighed. ‘Your Occlumency skills are abysmal; I can’t have you spill all my secrets to Dumbledore. So, until I am satisfied you can withhold information from him, you will stay at my headquarters during your apprenticeship.’

 

‘My parents haven’t seen me all year,’ Hermione whispered, torn, ‘and the Weasleys are expecting-’

 

‘Be there; don’t be there. It’s not me who needs help, Hermione Granger.’

 

She didn’t know what to do. This was not an outcome she had expected. Staying over at the Dark Lord’s place wasn’t exactly high on her lists of popular vacation spots.

 

‘Three a.m.,’ Lord Voldemort repeated, interrupting her thought process. ‘I won’t wait.’

 

He apparated away before she had a chance to speak.

 

 ‘Brilliant, just brilliant,’ Hermione muttered. ‘You just had to ask for help, didn’t you Granger?’

 

She groaned as she reached for the Portkey back to Hogwarts. Now, what was she to do?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It was still relatively hot that night. Hermione shrugged off her coat and put it into her bag, before dumping said bag next to the bench carelessly. She sat down, checking her watch. It was early. There was time to change her mind; something she had done –  _oh_ – give or take a million times in the last four days. As for her whereabouts the coming weeks, she had given everyone the typical teenage lie. Her parents thought she was at the Weasley's; and she had written Ron that her parents had missed her too much and that she had to spend some more time with them before coming to the Burrow. It hadn't been a complete lie. She had seen her father comfort her crying mother as they walked away from the train station, thinking their daughter had been on the leaving train.

Instead, Hermione had sneaked back home and had waited in her bedroom, because she didn't think it would be wise to wander the streets much. It would be more than ironic if she happened to run into a stray Death Eater mere hours before having her meeting with their boss. Considering her luck these days, she wasn't risking it. Fate seemed to have it in for her.

Absentminded, she plucked a flower from the bushes behind her. Stay or go? Perhaps the flower knew? 'Leave,' Hermione said, pulling petal after petal of the flower. 'Stay – leave – stay – leave – stay – leave – stay – leave,' she ended.

Silently, she watched the flower's empty stem. 'Oh, that's not right,' she growled, tossing the stem away and getting to her feet.

She walked past two of the several clown's statues, which stood decoratively all over the playground – some very small ones and others slightly bigger than Hagrid's little brother. People felt it was a cheerful colourful sight, very suited for little children. Hermione had always felt they were just plain darn creepy.

She halted in front of the little wooden merry-go-round, grabbed the iron bar and stepped on the round platform. A flick of her wand and it started slowly twirling around by itself. Leaning back, she felt the wind pleasantly moving her hair away from her face. Her luggage lay forgotten by the bench she vacated. She sighed, looked at her watch and used the bar to lie down. Five to three, there was still time to reach a decision. She scratched her head with her wand before pointing it at the sky. 'Stay,' she said. A flash of light left the tip of her wand and a twinkling star blackened. 'Leave – stay – leave.'

It was a fun game; it gave her a kind of morbid satisfaction to darken the environment around her.  _Such great symbolism._

She snorted. 'Stay – leave – stay – leave – stay.'

'Dare I wait until you're finished with the Ursa Major?' a cold, high-pitched voice asked, amused. 'Some Astronomy scientists are rather fond of the direction the pole-star gives them.'

Hermione banged her head on the iron bar as she sat up abruptly. It was somewhat lower than she remembered it to be. With her left hand, she rubbed her head, while she whipped her wand around with the other. Slowly, the merry-go-round came to a halt.

'I-I wasn't really…,' she stopped, seeing the condescending look he gave her.

The Dark Lord had sat down on the bench she had vacated. His hands folded behind his head; his legs stretched out; his ankles crossed, he made the impression of lounging comfortable with all the time in the world. 'Do continue,' he casually said, his head nodding towards the sky, 'I wouldn't want to be held responsible for halting such an obvious intelligent method of deduction and,' he checked the time, 'you have only one minute left to get them all, so…,' he trailed off.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, which made her angry. She hadn't wanted him to know she was feeling uncertain about being here, and she sure as hell didn't enjoy being made fun of by the likes of him. Hermione embraced her anger; it felt better than embarrassment or fear any day, and she jumped to her feet feeling brave and empowered. With an irritable flick of her wand, the sky brightened immediately.

'I was just passing the time,' she explained through clenched teeth.

He merely gave her a look.

'I've made my decision ages ago,' she added, feeling a sudden need to kick something, anything – anyone, someone.

A chuckle escaped his lips. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, which erupted a smirk on his face while he said, 'And?'

'I am here, ain't I?'

'So you are,' he conceded. 'I take it the lack of luggage means you are not coming. It's very bold of you, Hermione, to have the nerve to tell me no to my face. Not many of my followers would dare to risk the chance of displeasing Lord Voldemort.'

His posture changed only slight during the last sentence, but it was enough to make her heart skip a beat and the fear she had felt upon hearing his voice the first time came rushing back. So much for feeling empowered and brave by embracing your anger.

Hermione frowned. She didn't know which misconception of him to address first. Neither option sounded very appealing. 'I've brought my luggage,' she decided on, chickening out by ignoring being included in the "my followers" bit.

Lord Voldemort glanced at the small beaded bag on the ground next to the bench. 'I told you to bring everything you would need for an extended stay. No woman would pack this lightly.'

'Sexist,' she blurted out; immediately wishing somewhere along the line of all those many years of education, she had picked up the ability to think before speaking first when he got to his feet – wand in hand.

'It's not light,' she added quickly. 'I shrunk everything to make it more manageable. I had to bring all my books and scrolls and my Potions' equipment and, well, everything; and my parents' neighbours are always up late and incredibly nosey. It's hard to sneak by them with a lot of stuff unnoticed. And if they had seen me walk the street at night dragging along that much luggage, they would have…,' Hermione halted when Voldemort picked up her bag and looked inside.

He rummaged through it for a moment, checking the contents. 'You didn't use a standard shrinking charm,' he said with a blank expression on his face.

'No, some of the historic texts I had to bring along have build-in charm protections. I had to bypass those.'

He nodded. 'Gregorian Shrinking Charm and Le Fay's Potion of Mirage to fool the inbound protections.'

'Yes, and a touch of Abyssinian Shrivelfig woven into the bag.'

'Which, if cast upon, enhances the powers of the Gregorian Charm significantly,' he added knowingly. Voldemort moved the bag up and down in his hands, weighing its contents. 'An Anti-Gravitation Charm added to the mix would have made it almost perfect.'

'I didn't have time to figure out how to embed one into the bag and not make it head for the stars continuously,' Hermione said, blushing slightly about the almost perfect comment.

He waved his wand trice over her bag in a circular movement. 'No Tracking Charms or other objectionable items,' he muttered, after which he tossed the bag to her.

Hermione almost went through her back as she had braced herself for catching something a lot heavier than it was now. 'Oh,' she said, surprised.

Lord Voldemort held out his hand. 'If you have decided to take me up on my offer, then we should be going.'

Hermione hesitated a split-second. It was something to decide to do this in theory, but another thing altogether when the man in question was standing a few feet away from you holding out his hand. She let out the breath, she hadn't realised she was holding, and moved toward him.

'Hold still,' he ordered, holding up his hand to stop her in front of him.

Hermione froze.

'Now, where did he put it?'

Hermione frowned, puzzled. 'What? Who?'

Lord Voldemort gave her a long examining look. She shifted somewhat uneasy under that intense red stare, but she wasn't backing down. No, she was holding her ground. After all, she was a Gryffindor. She had a reputation to uphold. Gryffindors don't do scared. Nope, she was not afraid; she was brave. She was perfectly fine with-

He raised his wand at her.

_She was so going to burn the stupid Sorting Hat._

A flick of his wrist; and she tensed as his spell riffled through her like a blazing wind. Her clothes rustled; her hair twirled around her head and a strange, cold sensation forced its way through her. She waited for something dastardly to happen, but it ended without doing any damage to her. Well, for as far as she could tell. _Oh, blissful paranoia._

'Nothing on you either,' Voldemort concluded, somewhat amazed. 'Dumbledore must be losing his touch.'

She was still checking up on herself as she spoke, 'I didn't tell Professor Dumbledore anything.'

'Sure you did.'

Now, Hermione felt insulted. She was not a liar. 'I thought you were supposed to be so good at Legilimency,' she sneered.

'So is the old coot.'

'Professor Dumbledore would not do such a thing.'

Lord Voldemort patted her on the head.

'He did not snoop around my mind,' Hermione hissed, pissed he was treating her so damn condescending.

'With your debilitating Occlumency skills it would not have been a stretch for him to check your mind without your knowledge, and Legilimency during sleep leaves virtually no trace on your victim.'

Hermione felt disgusted. Legilimency during sleep? She had never even known it was an option. It-it was so plain wrong. It was beyond sickening. It was frightening.

'Oh, don't worry, your sleep-cycles will be quite safe with me,' Voldemort said, smirking wickedly, 'I much more prefer doing it when someone is awake and aware.' He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, 'It's far more entertaining if they are writhing on the ground in front of you.'

When he leaned back and caught sight of her pale face, he seemed very pleased with himself. 'Let's go,' he said, holding out his hand once more.

Hermione stared at the offending appendage. She couldn't bring herself to take it. It was a mistake to take it, a very-very big mistake. 'Malfoy will beat you,' a taunting voice in the back of her mind stated.

She laid her trembling hand in Voldemort's.  _Run, Hermione, run._

His long fingers curled around hers.  _Pull away, Hermione, pull away now!_

God, she wished her mind would stop screaming at her, especially since it made rather sensible suggestions.

He can't kill you, she reassured herself.  _I feel sooooo safe now, the little voice in the back of her mind mocked._

The squeezing sensation of Apparation started. She felt her body getting pushed together; the environment blurred; when, suddenly, she felt bloated – like her body was expanding. She glanced at herself, but she looked completely normal and so did her surroundings. The playground was yet again clear as glass. He'd stopped the Apparation; why?

A tap on her head, the feeling of a viscous liquid dripping over her head, and her appearance changed dramatically.

'Not a word,' Voldemort hissed. 'Go sit on the bench.'

He let go of her hand and pressed the tattoo on his arm with his wand. Seeing that, Hermione moved to the bench quickly.

'This better be good,' he mumbled, annoyed.

Crack.

Two robed figures apparated in front of him. 'Master,' they bowed.

 _Great,_ _more friendly faces, this night was just getting better and better by the minute_. Almost automatically, Hermione's hand went into her pocket, holding her wand tightly for comfort.

'Master, we found you this at the house,' a male voice said; he held out a tin canister, while his eyes glanced curiously to Hermione.

Hermione frowned when she saw Lord Voldemort accept it. They brought him sweets? He had his Death Eaters raid houses for candy?  _Okaaaayyy_ , and she thought Dumbledore was bad. At least he didn't need a bunch of lackeys to raid the villages in the middle of the night for his lemon drops. She rolled her eyes.

'Crystallized pineapple,' Lord Voldemort hissed, annoyed. 'Did I ask you to bring me crystallized pineapple?'

_Picky too._

'But Master, it means-'

'I know precisely what it means, Rogers; or do you have the audacity to think I, Lord Voldemort, need the feeble explanations of a blabbering idiot to understand what has happened tonight?'

_Oh, this was going to be good._ _Too bad she couldn't sell tickets._

'No Master, no,' Rogers said hastily, shaking his head.

'No-no?' Lord Voldemort replied sweetly. 'Well, Walden, what say you? Why don't you tell me why the two of you felt the need to disturb my time by bringing me this drivel?'

Walden swallowed visibly. Obviously, he wasn't at all happy the attention had turned to him. 'We thought you would be pleased to see we were closing in on him.'

'Why would I be pleased with this blatant sign of your failure to Lord Voldemort? Why would I be pleased that once again you failed to retrieve the man?' He shook the canister. Its candy clanged loudly in the night. 'Did you hear that, Rogers?' he asked quietly.

'Erm, yes?' Rogers replied hesitantly.

'Walden?'

'Yes, Master?' Walden replied uncertainly.

'Do you know what it means?' he continued threateningly.

Both Death Eaters glanced at each other fearfully.

'It's not empty?' Rogers suggested, closing his eyes.

'Meaning?'

It stayed silent. They obviously drew a blank.

'It means the house wasn't empty. It means Horace was still there and you two geniuses missed his presence. Now I-'

'Nobody move!'

Red uniforms surrounded the playground, Aurors, lots of them.

'Drop your wands!' Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice boomed. 'We have this place warded!'

'It's Him!' another voice squeaked slightly anxious.

Lord Voldemort whipped his wand above his head. Both Death Eaters rolled to the side. Several bright flashes. Hermione dove to the ground, clutching to her wand and her bag. Spells flew over her head, the sounds of dropping bodies. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rogers or Walden go down.

'Drop it, missy,' an Auror said, pushing his wand in her back.

Hermione let go of her wand and bag immediately. Her hands got tied behind her back and she was pulled up on her knees. She gasped, seeing Tonks stand in front of her, wand pointed at her face.

'Move and you die,' said Tonks.

'Get her stuff, Tonks.'

'Accio!' Tonks cast.

Hermione watched as her belongings flew into Nymphadora's hands. A kaleidoscope of colours streamed from the Dark Lord's wand behind Tonks. Three more Aurors dropped. Lord Voldemort swirled around. His body suddenly obscured by a raging tornado.

'Look out!' Hermione yelled to Tonks as the tornado rushed them.

The Auror behind Hermione pointed his wand over her head to cast at the tornado, while keeping her arm in a vicelike grip. Tonks turned half, stumbled and fell to the floor beside Hermione, dropping her stuff. A tiny clown statue got shredded to dust. The tornado was almost there. They weren't moving to safety! They weren't moving out of its path!

Tonks tried to scramble to her feet and aimed at the tornado, but Hermione let herself fall sideways and used the momentum to pull her legs out from underneath her. She kicked out as hard as she could and got lucky. She hit the half-raised Tonks full in her left bottom and she flew through the air, out of the way. The Auror behind her swore and placed his wand in her neck. Hermione closed her eyes, bracing for the impact of whatever curse was going to hit her. She felt the tip heat up. A violent wind blew in her face. She screamed. Blood spattered in her face. The hand on her arm was gone. The ropes on her back were ripped to pieces, and it turned silent in the eye of the storm.

Lord Voldemort drew her to her feet, accio-ed her belongings and pushed them in her baffled hands. 'Do not lose them,' he barked.

His wand flashed around and the "tornado" around them started changing. It ceased to growl and twirl, and turned from the violent grey debris clouds to a bright green translucent dome-shaped light you could see straight through. Curses in all the colours of the rainbow crashed upon it, but it merely pulsed and seemingly absorbed the powers. The dome's energy had an almost physical quality. Hermione felt the strangest desire to touch it. She reached out.

'Don't,' Voldemort warned. 'Unless you want to lose your wandhand.'

She pulled back, clenching her fingers around her wand. The unsavoury desire was still there, like wanting to stick your hand inside the cage at the zoo and pet the tiger - so tempting, so deadly.

Voldemort swirled around, taking in their environment. Hermione's head swivelled left and right, wanting to see what had happened too. She gasped. She was horrified by all the bodies on the ground. In those brief moments of battle, it had been a slaughterhouse. She bit her lip. Her eyes met one of the Aurors still standing; Kingsley frowned at her for a moment, until his attention focused back on the man beside her. Still, despite the body count, Hermione noticed there were plenty of Aurors left alive and kicking. This could not be said of the two Death Eaters. One was either unconscious or dead, and the other lay bound and gagged on the ground.

'We have this place warded; you can only leave with us!' a booming voice shouted. 'Surrender now!'

Voldemort snorted. 'Drop those wards and I'll consider leaving without taking you all down.'

'We have reinforcements on the way; you'll never get us all.'

'I believe you are mistaken.' Voldemort whipped his wand above his head.

Screams of "look out" called; people dove for cover, and spells crashed against the dome once more as it started expanding with the extra magical force Voldemort had added to it. The Aurors slowly backed away from the approaching dome. Something the immobile Death Eater could not do. His eyes widened in fear and he tried to scream through his gag. Lord Voldemort stepped toward him, following the moving wall of his dome on the inside. A flick of his wrist and the gag fell from the mouth of the Death Eater.

Apparently, spells could leave the dome, but not enter, Hermione noted.

'Master, Master, help me,' Rogers said, moving his arms and legs frantically in his bounds.

'You let them follow you,' Voldemort quietly said, folding his arms over each other to show how little action he was going to undertake. 'You have outlived your usefulness.'

'Master, please, Master!'

Kingsley moved from behind the cover of a tree, briefly. His wand flashed, untying the Death Eater, who scrambled away on his behind, frightened.

Voldemort lazily cast another curse at his Death Eater. The man was immobile again. He screamed in pain as his feet touched the dome and they were being pulverised. His agonising yells continued, which - to Hermione's horror - made Kingsley try to rescue him again. But this time she knew Voldemort was waiting for him. Kingsley would die! Rather late she realised she had a wand too, and raised it.

'Avada Kedavra,' Voldemort cast.

'Mobilé Clown,' Hermione cast, trusting one of the huge clowns between Kingsley and Voldemort.

A backhand swoosh from Voldemort disarmed Hermione, even before the stone clown cracked upon the impact of the Killing Curse. Astonished, Kingsley looked at her for a split-second, and then he ran, because the cracked clown began falling toward him. The already fallen Death Eater stopped screaming; he had passed out. Slowly, the dome moved farther, until it shredded his entire body. It was when Lord Voldemort swirled toward her. Hermione stepped back in a reflex, but he had her wrist locked in his hand before she knew it.

'I wondered what it would take to make you to act,' he whispered, showing her his hand that held both wands now. 'It is interesting to know you really don't give a damn when an enemy of yours dies horribly. Your only concern was for the Auror. You felt absolutely nothing when Rogers screamed his lungs out. It's almost as interesting as your choice not to aim at me.'

Horrified, Hermione looked at him. He'd been hanging around here, killing people, to see what she would do?

He flung her around in his arms and held her tightly against him with one arm around her waist. 'Though if you had aimed at me, I would have been forced to teach you a lesson, which I suppose would have been regrettable. Now, after this most insightful moment, we can leave,' he decided. 'I'll use both wands so you can feel what I do.' In a single move, he pushed both wands in her hand and folded his hand around hers – his fingers interlacing with hers. 'Observe and learn, little apprentice.'

For a moment, Hermione thought nothing was happening. Then, she felt it – Voldemort's magic drew together as if it was taking a deep breath. The gravitational power of it was enormous and it pulled her magic with it as well. Her eyes widened.

'Get out!' she yelled to the Aurors in panic, because whatever was going to come next – it was going to be bad, big time.

When he simply flicked their wands to point at the top of the dome, it felt like a shot of electricity leaving her body. Her knees buckled; quickly, she grabbed a hold of Voldemort's arm around her waist to not keel over, and she leaned back – her head resting against his torso to stay in a vertical position.

Frankly, the only reason she was still standing was the firm grip his arm had on her body, because his curse burst out with the force of lightning and smashed into the dome, expanding it so violently, it demolished the Aurors' wards and everything else in its path to pieces. Hermione had no idea if Kingsley and Tonks or any of the other Aurors had made it out on time. There was simply too little left of the school's playground to make identifications.

'Now we can leave,' a satisfied voice spoke above her, and he apparated them away.

She expected to arrive somewhere indoors, but they didn't. He let go and she plummeted to the ground; her legs were still not quite able to function properly. As she lay on the hard metallic surface, clutching her beaded bag in her left hand, she noticed the stars were a lot brighter out here – wherever on earth here was. She also noted the surface she lay on was moving; actually, it was rolling – waves! They were on a ship. A ship? His headquarters was on a boat? Odd.

'We're not there yet,' Voldemort said, coming back into view from whatever the hell he'd been doing. He knelt down and held out a necklace with a small emerald pendant to her. Inside the pendant, a black cloud bellowed in and out of focus. It was shaped in the figure of his mark. 'Put this on.'

Hermione glanced at the necklace suspiciously. Yeah sure, did he think she was crazy?

'The wards around my headquarters are designed to kill those who try passing them without my mark. But if you don't want the necklace, I can always put a tattoo on your arm if you prefer that?' he said, pointing his wand to her left arm, smirking.

She snatched the necklace from his hand.

'Oh well,' he said, shrugging. 'There is always a later opportunity.'

Hermione glared at him. Was he delusional? Oh, rhetorical question; never mind.

She sat up carefully – glad she was able to – and put on the necklace, surveying her surroundings. There was nothing to see. It was like looking at a black wall. Hermione frowned and looked up. The stars were gone too.

'It's to make sure we are not followed,' Voldemort explained. 'Can you stand already?'

Hermione ignored the slight annoyance in his voice and tried her legs. 'I think so,' she muttered, scrambling to her feet a bit wobbly. The rolling surface didn't help and she stumbled, grabbing a hold of his robes to keep standing. 'Whoops,' she said.

He merely looked at the offending hand on his robes. Hermione withdrew her hand quickly. 'S-sorry,' she stuttered, 'I almost fell.'

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, because, really, it wasn't like they hadn't touched before.

'If you are done delaying us…,' Voldemort said coldly, holding out his hand once more.

Hermione's jaw dropped slightly. It wasn't like she was the one who drew all her magic out of her and then dumped her on the ground like trash. Somewhat annoyed, she took his hand. His wand tapped on her head again, changing her appearance back to normal. Then, the world began swirling; everything turned black and the same uncomfortable feeling of Apparation crushed her body together. They were well on their way to the Dark Lord's headquarters.

xxx

'I don't think Sirius would have left the house to Harry if there was a chance of it blowing up in his face like that,' Remus Lupin said softly.

'We need to know for sure,' Molly replied, concerned. 'We can't risk Harry's life.'

They all looked at Severus Snape, who sighed. 'For the thousandth time, I have no idea if Bellatrix Lestrange is its rightful owner now. She doesn't confide to me and the only time I had a chance of finding it out, the Dark Lord sent us away to read a letter he got.'

'It's a shame you couldn't find out anything more about the letter other than that its contents incited him,' Alastor Moody said suspiciously, his magical eye rolling to Snape. 'It sounds like something that could have been important for us to know about.'

'Yes, it's a shame,' Snape repeated sarcastically. 'The next time the Dark Lord gets a letter, I'll make sure to ask him to read it out loud. I'm positive he will be more than accommodating; he is like that you know, always willing to assist and help his fellow man.'

'The letter is not an issue, Severus,' Dumbledore intervened. 'I have a pretty good idea what was in it and whom it was from.'

Every Order Member present looked at Dumbledore curiously, but he continued without explaining it any further. 'We need to focus our attention on twelve Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher, I believe, is the ticket to finding out if…,' Dumbledore halted, shocked.

The door had opened and two people, who looked like they had been through a storm, entered. Tonks limped in, while Kingsley supported her. They were covered in bruises and scratches. Their clothes were ruptured, and they both looked thoroughly annoyed.

'Oh my,' Molly said, her hands flying to her mouth.

Remus Lupin's chair crashed to the ground as he hurried out of it to get to Tonks. Kingsley let go of Tonks to make room for Remus. 'Are you all right?' Remus asked, putting his arms around her.

Tonks nodded. 'It's nothing; I can't move my leg normally due to some heavy bruising thanks to a little bitch, who kicked me.'

'That little bitch saved your life,' Kingsley retorted calmly. 'Ipswich wasn't as lucky. You-Know-Who's tornado killed him.'

Remus's grip on Tonks tightened.

'And I'll be happy to return the favour to her someday,' Tonks replied to Kingsley vengefully, rubbing her extremely painful bottom.

'You-Know-Who!' several voices said, talking straight through Tonks' words, getting to their feet. 'You ran into the man himself?'

'What tornado?' asked Bill.

'What happened?' asked McGonagall.

Dumbledore stood and his voice called out over all the others, silencing them. 'Why don't we all sit down,' he suggested, making Tonks grimace. 'That way Kingsley or Tonks can tell us all about what happened in an orderly fashion.'

Tonks gestured to Kingsley to go ahead, while everyone moved back to their chairs. Molly hovered around Kingsley, asking him if he needed anything, before walking over to Tonks and checking her out, while Kingsley started telling.

'So,' Mad-Eye said when Kingsley was done. 'You say he let the two Death Eaters die whom you lot followed, but he went to extensive length to keep this unknown girl out of the hands of the Aurors.'

Thoughtfully, Dumbledore put one of Molly's cookies in his mouth.

'Yes,' Kingsley replied, leaning forward excited. 'She must be important to him.'

They both turned to Severus. His face darkened. 'Ever since the summer vacation has started, I had the blissful fortune not to run into any brats – nor have I heard of any little girls...,' Severus trailed off. He suddenly remembered the Dark Lord's outburst right before apparating away.

'Yes?' asked Arthur, gesturing to Severus to finish his sentence.

Snape looked up at Dumbledore, questioningly. Albus Dumbledore was giving him an intense stare back. Somehow, he got the feeling Dumbledore didn't want him to share this information with everybody.

'Nothing,' Snape finally said. 'I thought I remembered something, but I was mistaken.'

Remus's eyes darted from Dumbledore to Snape and back again. He noticed Moody was doing the same. For a second, he met Moody's eyes and they shared a glance of mutual understanding – something was up.

'It was strange though,' Kingsley continued, ignoring the moment, knowing full well there was no point in trying to gain information from Dumbledore if he wasn't in a sharing mood. 'Sure he protected her, but she looked absolutely horrified about what was happening. She saved both my life and Tonks, and she warned us all to leave right before the Dark Lord would have killed us all with that destructive dome of his.'

'I am surprised she is still alive, then,' Elphias Doge stated.

'Well, you did say not every Auror listened to her, so he got to kill a lot of them anyway,' Emmeline Vance replied.

'Maybe she isn't alive,' Dedalus Diggle countered. 'He could have killed her after he left.'

'Doubtful,' Kingsley said. 'She-'

'We need to decide where we will get-together for the weeks to come, until I have spoken with Harry and tested out whether or not twelve Grimmauld Place is still ours,' Dumbledore interrupted.

Arthur and Molly looked at each other. Arthur shrugged and nodded to her that it was her choice. 'You can all come here,' Molly stated.

Dumbledore turned to her. 'Are you sure, Molly? It will make your home an even bigger target.'

Molly pointed at the clock on the wall. All the hands stood firmly on mortal peril. 'We're already in danger, Albus. Besides, the Ministry is installing extra protections on our house, because Harry will get here two weeks from now. We might as well take advantage of it.'

'Very well,' Dumbledore said. 'We thank you for your gracious offer, Molly. For the time being we will keep meeting here. I shall look into the matter for the future; hopefully, Remus is right about Sirius's actions and we can use twelve Grimmauld Place again. If not, I believe a more neutral place than any of our members' home would be more suitable.'

'I can take a look if one of the Auror's safe-houses qualifies?' Tonks suggested.

'That would be most helpful,' Dumbledore said. 'Unless anyone has any more urgent news, I'd like to adjourn this meeting. I have urgent matters to attend to.'

Nobody had any more news. Slowly, the Order Members dribbled out of Molly's kitchen. 'Severus, a word,' Dumbledore said.

They walked out together, causing several of the remaining occupants of Molly's kitchen to raise their eyebrows. 'I hope Albus knows what he is doing,' Mad-Eye muttered, disgruntled.

'I am sure he has a good reason to trust Severus Snape,' Remus replied, putting on his raggedy coat.

Mad-Eye snorted distrustfully. 'Does that embody trust in you?' Mad-Eye pointed his wand at the scene outside.

Dumbledore and Snape were gesturing in aggravation. They obviously were having a serious disagreement of sorts. Remus sighed. 'You see betrayal everywhere, Moody.'

'That's because there are far too many lying traitors around, Remus, far too many,' he grunted. 'Constant vigilance, I say, constant vigilance.'


	9. Chapter 9

**  
  
Chapter Nine**  
  
After Lord Voldemort left, Hermione just had to try the door. Well, there is something about being told a door is locked and warded, and then, there is testing said theory. She didn’t know what it was about closed doors that made you want to rattle them. She never heard of one actually opening if you just yanked at it thoroughly enough. And, alas, her expectations were confirmed; it was firmly sealed.   
  
Hermione dumped her bag on the hard wooden floor and gave her new place of stay a thorough screening, trying to figure out where she was. You never knew; some day the information of the exact whereabouts of Lord Voldemort’s headquarters might prove to be – er – convenient?   
  
 _Nah, nobody in the whole of England wanted to know that._  
  
She giggled, envisioning the shocked looks she would get if she could tell the Order, where they could find him. Not that it was an option, as his apprentice she was bound to keep his secrets through the magical confidentiality agreement she signed; but still, it was rather entertaining to consider everyone’s reactions to a hypothetical scenario.  
  
However, the scenario was too hypothetical, since she hadn’t figured out the location yet. Scratching her head, she looked around the bedroom. It was huge, even to the standards she’d been accustomed too with her well-off dentist parents. Up against the far wall, there was a four-poster king-sized bed. Its dark wooden posts covered with the most hideous pink-and-blue flowery-patterned curtains she had ever seen. She examined the elaborate carvings on the posts, hoping it would help, but they were all snakes.   
  
 _Slytherins and their extreme originality!_  
  
The two nightstands on either side of the bed had similar carvings on their one supporting post and were made of the same wood as the bed. She opened the – alas – empty drawer in there, while wrinkling her nose to the chandelier coverings, who had the same disgusting flowery pattern on their hoods as the curtains of the bed. A little “accidental” spill of fire would do wonders for this room.  
  
A small seating arrangement, containing two surprisingly comfy chairs and a little round table, stood in the corner of the room on the right side of the bed. It was nearest to the door Voldemort had left through. That wall was empty, showing off the polished wood panelling and its dreadful pink – yes, you heard correctly – pink wallpaper. On either side of the door, there were two square discolorations visible on the wallpaper. Obviously, something had hung there; something that might have given something away to her, paintings perhaps?   
  
On the opposite wall of the bed, there was a huge mirror above a bulky dresser; an imposing wardrobe stood on the left side of it, and on the right side was a door, which let to a bathroom. On the remaining wall, next to an enchanted window, there was a bookcase, which reached all the way to the ceiling. Everything was made of the same dark wood she thought was oak (but wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of) and every single piece of furniture turned out to be empty and covered in elaborate snake carvings.   
  
Only the desk that was placed beneath the enchanted window seemed out of place. It had white metal paws and a glossy white-stained glass surface. It was too modern to have originally belonged here. The same went for the chair in front of it, too modern looking.   
  
 _Ikea?_  
  
She giggled, envisioning a shopping Lord Voldemort. Well, it would clear out the shop for sure. No waiting at the back of a ridiculously long line to pay for your items. Lord Voldemort paying for his items? Duh, Granger, you have the craziest of ideas. She giggled louder, while looking around again.  
  
There had to be a more defining clue around here somewhere. She stood in the centre of the room, her hands in her sides. What did she know? It seemed old and there were snakes. So, he was using someone’s house! She jumped in excitement before frowning. He could have conjured the place like this to make her believe that.   
  
 _Nah, pink wallpaper, ’nuff said._  
  
So, he had to be using someone’s house. Whose?   
  
By Merlin, snakes and a seemingly old décor didn’t narrow the field much with his followers. She sighed and sat down on the white bedcovers. Well, at least she had deduced something, which was better than nothing, she guessed. She laid down, stretching out her arms above her head, while her legs still bungled over the side, and went over the long list of possible candidates; Lestrange, Dolohov, Mulciber, Nott, Rosier, Rockwood, … Malfoy.   
  
Hermione snorted. Wouldn’t that be something? Draco would have a heart attack if he knew she was staying at his family’s manor – it would be one apprentice less in the race. He’d never survive the notion of a Mudblood befouling his house, the horror. She started laughing exuberantly, until tears streamed down her face and she had to hold onto her stomach to relieve the aching.   
  
 _Gosh, this entire situation so wasn’t funny at all._  
  
She ended up on her side, lying still. What the hell had she been thinking? How stupid had she become? How incredibly foolish and self-serving and irresponsible of her to actually take Voldemort up on his offer and go with him. She groaned, deciding she needed to stop second-guessing herself, for what little good it would do her now. She needed to shower and sleep. Yeah, sleep sounded nice. It already was far too late or early, depending on how you looked at time. It didn’t take her long to get ready and she climbed under the covers, dozing off almost immediately, hoping her dreams would not involve those curtains.  
  
\---  
  
‘Would you like me to do it now?’ asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. ‘Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?’   
  
Dumbledore smiled. Somehow it was almost a relief to know he was going to die within a year’s time. In a way the Resurrection Stone gave him just what he hoped it would do – see Ariana again; even though it was in due course and with a little help from Tom. But first things first, he had to make sure Tom was not the one directly responsible for killing him. It would be disastrous if his wand got into that man’s hands. And he had to protect Draco and those who would be endangered by the foolish actions the boy undoubtedly would undertake to complete his mission. Severus, yes, Severus could be trusted with these things.   
  
They spoke for awhile longer, until he had Severus’s reluctant acknowledgement to kill him when the time presented itself and the man left quietly. Dumbledore placed the Sword of Gryffindor back in its glass casing and looked around, taking in the Head’s Office unlike he’d ever done before; the snoring paintings, the beautiful view on the darkened, moonlit landscape from the large windows on the circular walls, the enormous claw-footed desk, the Sorting Hat on the shelf, his collection of silvery trinkets and Fawkes.  
  
‘Hogwarts sure is beautiful, Fawkes,’ he said softly, sitting down in his chair after patting the bird on its head.   
  
The phoenix sang quietly.   
  
Dumbledore sighed and picked up the ring. Two down, but exactly how many more were there? It could be any given number. His gut told him seven, purely from an Arithmancy standpoint, but he had to be sure. Horace knew the number; the man hadn’t altered his memory for no reason at all. Horace…   
  
Thoughtfully, he rolled the ring through his hands. Horace would never show him the truth, but he might tell Harry if he played his cards right. He had to find Horace again and bring him back to Hogwarts. He needed to put the man within Harry’s reach and vice versa.   
  
But what to do with Severus then? The defence position was, after all, cursed by Tom a long time ago. If he gave the job to Severus, it could get him killed – considering Severus was spying for him on Lord Voldemort, the chances were high the curse would enable him to find out Severus’s true allegiance. But Horace had no skill in the Dark Arts whatsoever, and he would expect to be reinstated in his old position, given his seniority and vanity. Dumbledore also had some serious doubts Horace would dare to take the D.A.D.A.-position. The rumours of the hazardousness of that job would surely have spread to him. No, if he wanted to sway Horace to come back, he could not offer him D.A.D.A. It had to be Potions.   
  
So, how to protect Severus from that curse? Perhaps he had already? He had only one year to live. If he needed Severus to kill him during that year, he would have to flee afterwards anyway; it would be in complete accordance with the curse. Yes, that had to be the solution to it all. He opened the drawer of his desk and placed the ring beside the diary in relief. Everything fitted together like pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle.   
  
Fawkes cried out.   
  
Dumbledore’s head rose slowly, pushing the drawer shut and placing his injured hand underneath the desk. ‘Tom, what can I do for you?’   
  
‘I need a student file,’ Lord Voldemort said shortly.  
  
‘Naturally,’ Dumbledore replied courteously.   
  
Dumbledore reached for the first file on top of the pile on his desk and held it out to Lord Voldemort, who narrowed his eyes briefly at noticing his need for it was obviously expected before he accepted the file from him. The Dark Lord stepped back and was about to disappear when Dumbledore spoke.   
  
‘I’ll be closing down the Keepers’ entrance to this office, Tom; if there is any future need to communicate, use Nebi or relay it to Gellert. I’ll make an exception for him.’  
  
‘Worried, Albus, I might find a way around the security measures you put in place to prevent the Keepers of the Dark from taking a stroll outside your office?’ Lord Voldemort sneered, waving his wand around.   
  
‘Let’s say I am cautious.’   
  
‘Well, I foresee no reason for us to …  _communicate_ ,’ Voldemort added coldly; and he disappeared with Hermione’s file in hand.  
  
‘Good,’ Dumbledore replied casually, and he whipped his wand around, shutting down every open connection in existence but for one exemption.   
  
Smiling broadly, he leaned back in his chair. This very moment had been the only reason he had kept the connection open for so long. Everything seemed to be going according to plan if Tom already felt the need to read her file – he was falling for it; hook, line, and sinker.   
  
\---  
  
Aggravated, Hermione paced the bedroom to and fro. She’d been here forever now! Okay, in reality it had been just a couple of days, but it felt like forever. She had seen absolutely nobody anymore since he dumped her here, in this hideous room, without her wand. Sure, there had been a steady supply of food and drinks on her table every day, accompanied with a large stack of books on human behaviour, the human brain, mind control, mind invasions and more delightful literature on Legilimency and Occlumency, which had absolutely nothing to do with her assignment whatsoever. And, let’s face it; these were not things she could not have read at home. Surely, the man had heard of the concept of owls.   
  
Disgruntled, she kicked the wooden bedpost, hard.   
  
Hermione was completely stuck on her Controlled Casting assignment; the scrolls and books she had brought along herself were not enough to unravel the mystery how to undo an already cast spell. Without her wand, she could not test anything she had put together and she had no idea if the things she had already written down were any good. It was so damn frustrating. She normally always knew what she wrote was correct. Now, all she could do was hope she was on the right track; it was not something she was good at – just hope for the best. She was a perfectionist at everything she did.   
  
All those bloody Keepers with their complete indifference to her impossible situation could keel over for all she cared. As if it wasn’t bad enough she had to keep his horrible secrets to herself. No, now she was also a fucking prisoner here, no matter how comfortable her surroundings were and how well she was taken care of. Surely, they could have made a tiny, little, itty-bitty rule somewhere about NOT locking up your apprentice!   
  
She stopped in front of her paper-filled desk and its enchanted window, which seemed to taunt her inability to complete her essay. Every time she’d been stuck with her writing, she had watched the stupid view. Right now it displayed an ocean, but that would change to show a forest in… (she looked at her watch) three hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-five seconds.   
  
Merlin’s beard, she was insanely bored. Sure, the books, he had supplied her with, were interesting; but she read them thrice already, made the appropriate notes and all. Without her wand, she couldn’t test any of the spells listed. It didn’t matter how much she normally loved to read. When it was all she could do, it was driving her mad.   
  
 _Oh, perhaps that’s the plan; drive the little Mudblood insane._    
  
She growled, picked up “Legilimency, The Basics” and threw it towards the door violently, while turning back to look at the bloody window, not caring much about the fate of the thick book in question.   
  
\---  
  
‘Dorotheos.’   
  
A broad, squared-jawed witch with grey hair inclined her head shortly, carrying a small briefcase underneath her arm, passing him in short, firm steps, while frowning through her monocle at the hovering parchment she was reading – her wand made sure it kept a stable, exactly right distance between her and her reading material. If there was one thing Amelia Susan Bones was known for, it was for her ability to multitask.   
  
‘Madame Bones, it’s a pleasure you’re back. Shall I-,’ Dorotheos halted his speech with the door still in hand, because the woman had already moved up the staircase and was out of sight before he knew it.   
  
‘Dawlish!’ Amelia boomed through the house.  
  
‘Yes, ma’am,’ sounded behind her.   
  
She turned in the landing. ‘Did you receive my note?’  
  
‘Yes, and I have assembled a team, Proudfoot and Tonks.’  
  
‘Good, two very competent Aurors, make sure to run their names by Albus first and if he agrees,’ she signed the paper Dawlish held out to her, ‘I want the three of you stationed at Hogwarts until we have this nasty business under control.’   
  
‘Any luck abroad?’ asked Dawlish curiously.  
  
‘Maybe, John, maybe,’ she replied, giving him a small knowing smile.  
  
The man let out a relieved sigh, which made Amelia give him a stern glance, driving her monocle farther into her flesh.   
  
Dawlish shrugged apologetically. ‘I am sorry if you think I am jinxing it, but I know you wouldn’t take no for an answer. We are being overrun from all sides; we need the back-up. It takes three years to become a fully qualified Auror and we are currently losing them by the minute.’  
  
‘I know, John, I was informed of what happened.’  
  
‘Twelve of our best men died on that school’s playground, and then, Emmeline Vance, Florean Fortescue, Ollivander… and those are just the ones that made it to the Daily Prophet; but I am sure there will be a full list on your desk.’   
  
Amelia grimaced. ‘Can’t say I look forward to reading it. But why don’t you go home, John, I am not going out tonight and I am sure your family would appreciate seeing you again.’   
  
John snorted. ‘They probably don’t recall what I look like; I’ll never get in.’  
  
‘Oh, I am sure your wiry hair is a distinctive enough feature for your wife. If not, you’ll just have to bypass your own securities. Go.’   
  
‘Well,’ John said hesitantly. ‘I’ve been swamped in work lately. If you are sure you don’t need me, I am the last one here and-’  
  
‘Yes, I am sure. Come on John, Rufus insisted on turning my house into a fortress. I can barely get in myself these days. Only a fool would target me here. It’ll be much easier to whack me when I am on my way to the ministry or in my office. Besides, I’m going to bed right after I’ve spoken with Rufus, so get a move on,’ she ordered kindly, waving with her hand to the stairs.   
  
‘I’ll go to the office and catch up with some of my paperwork then. If you do need to go out later, I’ll be within reasonable distance to accompany you.’  
  
‘No, John, if I find out you didn’t go home, I will personally sack you.’   
  
‘You can’t sack any Aurors; you need the manpower. Eh, this will probably be an excellent time for me to bring up that ever so illusive question of getting a raise,’ John wiggled his eyebrows, sniggering.   
  
‘A raise?’ Amelia said; her wand flourished and the hovering parchment moved back in her briefcase. She nodded slowly. ‘Of course for me to consider a raise, I’d have to look at your track record; see how many Death Eaters you have arrested lately; and with a rise in pay check come the added responsibilities of having to-’  
  
‘I think I’ll be going home now,’ Dawlish interrupted, backing up to the staircase, while holding up his hands in surrender.  
  
‘I think that may be a smart idea,’ she said laughing. ‘Oh and John, please escort Wildshire out too. He always seems to be under the impression I am interested in his ideas and I am in no mood to have to listen to his incessant chatter all night long. I plan to go to bed early.’  
  
‘Will do,’ Dawlish said, waving over his head.   
  
‘Much appreciated,’ Amelia muttered, moving to her study.   
  
A short burst from her wand and the locking mechanisms to her study began to move one at the time. Bones groaned. ‘Mental note, sack Unspeakable Hoggers for wasting my time.’   
  
Finally, the door opened and she paced in. Her wand flashed, tossing her briefcase on her desk. Another whip, and two doors of a wardrobe opened, a screen filled with static became visible. ‘Rufus Scrimgeour,’ she stated, while casting a non-verbal charm around the study which slammed all doors and window-shutters close, as well as put every ward back in place immediately.   
  
Really, if Hoggers could make them set in place this quickly, why did it have to take forever to lower them? Still, nothing could get in or out now. The message she had to relay would be secure. She never noticed the high-backed leather chair behind her desk was not facing her direction.  
  
‘Amelia,’ Rufus said amicably, appearing on the screen. ‘Good to see you’re back. Please tell me you have good news. I am in dire need of some.’   
  
‘That depends on your definition of the term good, partner.’  
  
Rufus’s smile widened. ‘You did it.’  
  
‘Ho-ho, no-no-no,’ Amelia said, shocked, holding up her hands, while shaking her head, ‘let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ve talked with the Canadian and US Departmental Head’s, but they are damn reluctant into getting involved in what they see is another country’s internal affair. You know what the cultures of our offices are like. If it’s your mess, you clean it up. You have no idea how many times I had to listen to the extensive list of dark wizards and witches they still have to pursue in their own country, and the lack of sufficient funds and manpower they have to deal with.’  
  
Scrimgeour grinned. ‘I used to be Head of the Auror Office, Amelia. I remember the endless debates. But I also know you and your complete inability to take no for an answer. Surely, you could convince them this wouldn’t stay our internal problem?’  
  
‘Well, that’s the road I took, and…,’ she halted with a smug grin, ‘both Edgar and Jean are coming over next week.’  
  
‘Yes!’ Scrimgeour raised his fist. ‘By Merlin woman, you are brilliant. If you were here right now, I’d give you a big smack on the lips.’  
  
‘Which is why we are conversing from a safe distance,’ Amelia replied dryly. ‘Still, we are not out of the woods yet. I said they are coming; I didn’t say they have agreed to send us reinforcements.’  
  
‘But,’ Rufus trailed off, watching her expectantly.  
  
Amelia sighed, dropping her head. But when she looked up, it was with a confident smile. ‘Between the two of us, I may have a game plan on how to convince them.’  
  
Rufus was practically bursting with joy. ‘It’ll be like old times. Do you need me to play bad Auror or good Auror?’  
  
Amelia gave him an amused laugh. ‘Try being a good Minister of Magic first, Rufus, we wouldn’t want you to get overwhelmed by all your new responsibilities.’   
  
‘Eh, I can multitask.’  
  
She snorted. ‘Oh yes, I remember how you used to be able to light your cigar and at the same time be-’   
  
‘Now, now, Amelia, no need to get into that old incident again. Let’s focus on the problems ahead, shall we?’   
  
‘I’ll give you all the details tomorrow, but I am confident we will get our reinforcements if we play it carefully with Edgar and Jean. Though, we wouldn’t be needing to play it carefully if the Ministry wouldn’t have kept cutting the budget of my office to begin with.’  
  
‘That was Cornelius’s doing not mine.’  
  
‘I haven’t seen you raise my funds either.’  
  
‘Get me Jean and Edgar, and I’ll consider it,’ Rufus said crafty.  
  
‘Oh, he is minister for a second and already he’s turning into a politician,’ Amelia mocked; but she turned seriously, when she added, ‘deal.’  
  
‘Deal,’ Rufus replied. ‘I’ll see you first thing tomorrow then?’   
  
‘Absolutely, and I’ll want that promise in writing, Rufus!’ Amelia added, waving her finger at him just before he wanted to turn away from her.  
  
‘You don’t trust me?’ he replied indignantly.   
  
‘Never trust a politician with your money.’  
  
Rufus snorted. ‘What would I do without you?’  
  
‘You’d be thoroughly lost and clueless as always, naturally.’  
  
Rufus’s laugh echoed through the study as Amelia flicked her wand to end their transmission. The screen showed static again and the doors slammed shut in front of it. Turning away from the wardrobe, she whipped her wand at her briefcase. It opened with a pop. Files flew out and began assembling themselves into their respective drawers. Her chair squeaked. Amelia looked up, frowning, as she saw it turn around on its own.   
  
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Lord Voldemort stated calmly from within her chair, stroking the wand in his hand.   
  
Her monocle dropped to the floor; she slashed her wand in his direction; her now empty chair exploded. Quickly, Amelia dove over her desk, taking cover at his previous position. Just in a nick of time, because behind her a green bolt charged past. She flourished her wand above her head, making everything on the shelves charge him. Her head swivelled left and right, screening the environment, while opening a drawer behind her back. Not looking, her hand searched through its contents hastily. She had to drop those damn wards to get out, but that took time. Time she did not have. He’d turned her neutral objects to sharp knifes and they came hollering back towards her. Her desk flew into the air, losing her its cover.   
  
‘Protego!’   
  
She felt the stone in her hand when several knifes cracked through her shield and pierced her body. She gasped for air. Blood sprayed out of her in more than one place, but much worse, her wand-arm got slashed open and she almost dropped her only means of defence. Throwing the stone to the ground, which caused a massive blast, she apparated to a new location inside the chamber. When she got there, all was dark and silent. Her blood still pouring out, she had to support her wand-arm now and she could barely stand with all those knives in her. But she didn’t dare to make a move or even try a Healing Charm, it would be too telling. Hell, she was sure the pounding of her heart would give her location away.   
  
Where was he?   
  
Her ears sharpened to pick up even the quietest of sounds; she stood there ready to aim if a target became available. It stayed eerily silent in the pitch-black environment. She began to feel dizzy. She blinked a couple of times, trying to stay focused. ‘Dear Merlin, please don’t let me pass out,’ she thought, scared.   
  
It became obvious to her she wouldn’t last much longer. She had to make the first move; but whereto? Firing blind would get her killed for sure. Did the density of the darkness change? She pressed her eyelids together and looked again. Fear struck into her heart when she realised the air around her was indeed thickening rapidly, choking her. He’d already made his move; she’d just failed to notice it!   
  
Coughing, she fell to her hands and knees, causing several knives to move inside of her, opening the wounds further. A muffled scream left her lips. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t breathe. She flashed her wand at the dark cloud surrounding her and poked a hole in it. Fresh air filled her lungs. She only got a couple of good breaths in them when the cloud disintegrated into black burning hot ashes which rained down upon her. Her Apparation attempt failed; she lacked the energy to focus. So, she rolled out of the way in despair, knowing it would dig some of the knives in deeper. She came to a halt against two black-robed legs. Red eyes looked down merciless; her wand flew from her hand. Death was here.  
  
‘You w-won’t win,’ she coughed out.  
  
He squatted down, letting his elbows rest on his knees and rolling his wand in between both hands thoughtfully. ‘Without those reinforcements, just how long do you estimate your department is going to last against me?’   
  
Her back arched as she had a coughing fit; blood streamed from her lips.   
  
‘I am guessing a year,’ he said, tilting his head. ‘Perhaps two if Scrimgeour takes the right precautions, but we both know he won’t – not without you to instruct him which way to go.’  
  
‘He won’t ha-have to f-fight you alone.’  
  
‘I think he will. I think the help you’re counting on isn’t going to come, not when they are going to be swamped in work themselves before the end of this week is over. Every US Auror, including their Head of Office, will be busy with damage control after the San Andreas Fault has moved at maximum magnitude; it won’t be their priority to come here after such a huge disaster.’   
  
A satisfied smirk filled his snakelike face when he saw the horrified expression on Bones’s face.   
  
‘And considering Jean’s dislike for Rufus is larger than life itself, I doubt I need to worry about the Canadians sending help if you’re not there to steer the conversation in the right direction.’ He stood up, and coldly, pointed his wand at her. ‘Don’t tell me you actually thought I – Lord Voldemort – would sit by and let you bring in more Aurors?’   
  
He smiled at the barely breathing woman and continued, ‘It’s been nice chatting with you, Amelia Bones, but I believe a change in regime is inevitable. Avada Kedavra!’  
  
Green light lit the room, illuminating the death of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Satisfied, Lord Voldemort looked down on the battered, lifeless body. It was an excellent day to be him. With the knowledge he had gained from Dorotheos Wildshire, he removed and reset the wards around the study before leaving through the front door like a normal visitor. In the morning the Daily Prophet would have to bring out an extra edition.  
  
\---  
  
Hermione folded her arms and stared furiously at the waves; as if it was the enchanted window’s fault she was stuck here. When the thud she’d been expecting failed to sound, she swirled around, coming to an abrupt halt when she saw a very amused Lord Voldemort observing her keenly, holding the Legilimency book in his outstretched hand.   
  
-


	10. Chapter 10

**  
  
Chapter Ten**  
  
‘Why can’t you just be proud of me?’ asked Draco, his voice raised slightly.  
  
He and his mother stood face-to-face in the centre of their drawing room. It was luxuriously decorated. A large crystalline chandelier hung from the high ceiling. A family painting in a gold-embossed frame was situated above the hearth. The hearth itself was obscured from sight by a decorative glass screen, displaying an oriental scene in all kinds of beautifully bright colours. The magnificent carpet was so thick your feet sank several inches into it and everywhere there were ornate, gilded furnishings visible, as well as expensive leather chairs and sofas. One of them contained the proud figure of Bellatrix Lestrange. She sat straight in the leather chair closest to the hearth, her eyes keenly following everything that happened.  
  
But the grandeur of neither the room nor the present company was hardly of consequence at the moment, for mother and son were having a significant row.   
  
‘I am proud of you, Draco, I always will be,’ Narcissa said, grabbing both his shoulders. ‘But you need the help; this is Albus Dumbledore we are talking about.’  
  
‘The Dark Lord chose me for this job, me!’ Draco said, pulling away from his mother’s grasp angrily. ‘If he thinks I can do it, why can’t my own mother?’   
  
Narcissa sighed. ‘Sweetheart, your aunt Bella and I went to great lengths to get Severus’s help.’  
  
Draco snorted haughtily. ‘To great lengths,’ he sneered. ‘He is just trying to steal my glory, like he stole dad’s!’  
  
‘The boy is right,’ Bella said; her eyes shining feverishly; her left leg, which she had crossed over her right, moved restlessly up and down – contained energy waiting to explode into violence. ‘The Dark Lord chose him. It is a great honour.’  
  
‘You stay out of this,’ Narcissa hissed, holding up her palm to Bella.  
  
‘No-no,’ Draco said, shaking his head, pointing his finger at his aunt. ‘I want to hear what she thinks.’  
  
Bella rose from her chair majestically. Slowly, she walked toward him; her hips swaying in her green silk dress. ‘You should do it, Draco. Think about how the Dark Lord will reward you and your family when you succeed.’  
  
Narcissa let out an inarticulate noise.   
  
‘Mother,’ Draco said reproachfully. He hadn’t liked the interruption; but he needn’t worry, Bella was unstoppable anyway.  
  
‘Think of the glory,’ Bella whispered in his ear, stalking around him. ‘The power,’ she hissed, leaning into his other ear. ‘You’ll become his most trusted servant; perhaps even second-in-command when you kill Albus Dumbledore.’  
  
‘Then why for Salazar’s sake don’t you do it?’ Narcissa sneered, putting her hands in her sides aggravated.   
  
‘If the Dark Lord had wished me to, I would be most pleased to perform this duty; but he has chosen not to bestow me with this incredible honour,’ Bella said, sounding slightly put-off.  
  
‘Incredible honour,’ Narcissa snorted sarcastically. ‘Suicide you mean.’  
  
‘See, I knew you didn’t believe in me!’ Draco yelled.   
  
‘No, sweetie, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Narcissa denied, looking at her son hopelessly.   
  
‘Then what did you mean, Cissy?’ asked Bella sweetly. ‘Are you saying the Dark Lord is wrong in his assessment of your son?’  
  
Narcissa’s shoulders dropped. If she told Bella what she really thought of the Dark Lord’s motives, Bella would single-handedly strangle her, slowly. And Draco, Draco would be so scared if he saw the truth behind his mission. Her eyes darted desperately between Draco and Bella, hoping to think of something to say to change the outcome of this discussion, to make Draco listen to reason. But the Dark Lord had got truly into her son's head, there would be no talking him out of it now. All she wanted was for him to turn to Severus, to let Severus help him, but she was losing the argument and she could feel it.  
  
‘See the look on her face, Draco,’ Bella said softly. ‘She really believes you can’t do it. Show her she is wrong. Show her who the man is in this household. Show her you have the blood of a Black in your veins. Show her the Dark Lord and I are right in believing you are wizard enough for this assignment. Show her,’ she hissed, stalking back to her chair and sitting down in it with a maniacal glint in her eyes.  
  
‘I don’t want any help,’ Draco decided, determined.   
  
‘Draco,’ Narcissa objected.  
  
‘No mother, I can do this. I will have loads of opportunity to achieve it, because I am his…’  
  
‘His what?’ asked Narcissa, puzzled.  
  
Draco shook his head and said, ‘Not important. The Dark Lord knows; it’s why he chose me. I want to do this myself. I have to do this myself.’   
  
Bella smiled, satisfied. ‘If that’s true, I can assist you in preventing Severus from finding out what you plan to do. I can teach you how to occlude your mind to him if you like?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Draco said, nodding his head eagerly.   
  
‘Bella, we ask Severus for his help,’ Narcissa repeated. ‘You performed the Unbreakable Vow yourself.’  
  
‘You asked for Severus’s help. I merely made sure helping would be his only option.’ Bella rose from her chair again and looked at Draco. ‘We will have to start as early as possible. Have you read any of your father’s books on this subject?’  
  
Draco shook his head.   
  
‘Then do so today. We will start your first lesson tomorrow at three in the afternoon,’ Bella said, grabbing the door handle and opening it.   
  
‘Draco, Severus can assist you; you can still take credit even if he helps,’ Narcissa tried. As Draco walked out the door, ignoring her, she shouted out after him, ‘Severus doesn’t want to steal your glory!’  
  
Angry, Narcissa looked at her sister. ‘Thanks for the help, sis. You know it’s in the Dark Lord’s best interest if Draco receives assistance. He can never take on Albus Dumbledore on his own.’  
  
‘The Dark Lord believes Draco can. He said the boy is a great wizard, much better than his father, and the Dark Lord knows. You need to have more faith in your son. I think he is handling the situation with the true pride of a Black,’ Bella stated proudly. ‘Besides, I don’t trust Severus’s assistance, Cissy, I told you this before.  
  
‘Severus took the Unbreakable Vow and still you don’t trust him?’ Narcissa asked, baffled.  
  
Bella leaned back, her hand still holding onto the door, which made her body swing sideways. A wicked glint in her eyes, she smiled, ‘Which is exactly why I made him take an Unbreakable Vow. Now, all he can do is die,’ she spat, ‘should he dare to betray us and our Lord.’   
  
Her insane cackle still echoed through the entire house until long after she left.   
  
Thoroughly defeated, Narcissa plummeted in a nearby armchair. She stared around the empty room, hoping for assistance from something, someone. Finally she looked at her hands. ‘But it’s Albus Dumbledore,’ she repeated helplessly.   
  
\---  
  
After several days of seeing no one, Hermione hadn’t been in the mood anymore to really dress for company. So, she wore one of her baggiest grey sweatpants, accompanied with a royal-blue tank top. A matching vest belonged with the sweats, but it lay forgotten on her bed; it had been too hot to wear it too. She was utterly surprised when she saw Lord Voldemort standing there; she hadn’t heard the locks of the door open nor observed anything else that could have alerted her to his arrival. Yet, he was clearly here, holding the book she had just furiously thrown away to relieve some of the tension she was feeling. A move, which didn’t make her feel much better now.  
  
‘Are you always this careless with other people’s belongings?’ asked Voldemort, examining the book in his hand.   
  
 _Geezzz, pot, kettle, black – ring any bells?_  
  
‘Fortunately for you, this one is not mine,’ he added casually, and tossed “Legilimency, The Basics” over his shoulder.  
  
 _The prosecution rests, Your Honour._  
  
‘Whose is it then?’ she asked curiously.   
  
‘Trying to get a clue as to where you are?’ he asked tauntingly. ‘I am surprised you haven’t figured it out yet; someone of your assumed intelligence should have been able to determine it by now.’  
  
‘Yes, because I have seen so much of this place already,’ Hermione replied sarcastically.  
  
‘Well, if you want to run into my followers and complicate matters for yourself, I’ll be happy to give you a grand tour of the mansion. But perhaps you should try a more direct approach with your questions. I find that usually gets the right answers much quicker.’  
  
 _Yeah, she bet he did._    
  
‘It’s not like you’re going to tell me,’ she said instead.  
  
He shrugged. ‘It’s not like you’re going anywhere.’  
  
‘Okay,’ said Hermione, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender in the air before placing them in her sides bossily. ‘Where am I?’   
  
Lord Voldemort gave her a brief, amused glance and didn’t reply; he just strolled leisurely around the room, coming to a halt in front of the dresser her beaded bag was on. Hermione folded her arms; her eyes darted up and down his long frame, until meeting his creepy red, slit-pupil eyes in the huge mirror in front of him.   
  
 _What was it with Slytherins and black robes?_  
  
‘They make you look thinner,’ quipped the Dark Lord.   
  
Shocked, she averted her eyes.  _Crap, he’d been in her mind and she hadn’t realised it._  
  
Voldemort opened her bag and smirked when he noticed, she had yet to unpack. Everything was still in there, except for the books, scrolls and writing supplies she was using and had stationed on her desk. ‘Ready for a quick getaway?’ he mocked, turning around and approaching her slowly.   
  
It was obviously a rhetorical question, so she didn’t reply. She also wasn’t foolish enough to look him in his eyes again. Hermione stared pointedly at one of the bedpost on her left when he stopped right in front of her. She tensed when he raised his hands and placed them on her bare shoulders – they were surprisingly warm, coming from someone with such a serpentine exterior, and they felt very familiar. It reminded her of her dream;  _scratch that, nightmare._    
  
‘Excuse me,’ he said, moving her out of the way gently.  
  
Confused by his polite actions, Hermione allowed herself to be let to the side and she stood there, blinking, trying to grasp what was going on. He picked up her writings and scanned through them quickly, before he tucked them into a pocket inside his robe. Next, he pulled out her wand. ‘You’ll be needing this,’ he said, holding it out to her.   
  
Hermione blinked and gazed at her wand in surprise. He was giving it back to her? What on earth was going on? Was she in some kind of alternate reality or what? Well, she was wearing a tank top after all, so anything was possible.  
  
Still, she accepted her wand quickly before he would come to his senses and change his mind. But she wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to do when he turned his back to her and walked away. Talk about your hell of a tempting, incredibly scary opportunity. It had to be a trap of some sort. She felt almost relieved about the opportunity disappearing when he moved around to face her, a couple of feet away. That was until she noticed he was, now too, carrying his wand in his hand, holding it loosely to the side.  
  
‘I take it you’ve read and memorised the books I gave you,’ Voldemort said in a tone that clearly didn’t expect to be challenged.  
  
Hermione nodded hesitantly – not sure she wanted to find out where this situation was going to lead to.  
  
‘There are several stages in performing Legilimency, each involving an attack into the other’s mind at different levels. All those stages require a form of Occlumency which is designed to adequately respond to the variation of the Legilimency attack. There is, however, one commonality in all those defences; did you identify it?’  
  
‘Avoid eye contact,’ Hermione answered, scratching her neck nervously with her wand-free hand.   
  
‘Yes, eye contact is essential to perform Legilimency. When-’  
  
‘But?’ Hermione halted, frowning.  
  
‘What?’   
  
‘I didn’t have eye contact with you when you identified I was upset with Professor Dumbledore,’ she said, puzzled.  
  
A smirk erupted on Voldemort’s white, snakelike face. ‘As I told you back then, I didn’t need to perform Legilimency to deduce it. Any fool can put two and two together. Your body language screamed discomfort, which meant it wasn’t really your first choice to be there, despite your rather… impolite invitation. Considering I was made your “guide”, it is obvious as to why. It is also obvious you would have gone to Albus for his assistance in your predicament, which he could not have given and that would piss off even a saint.’  
  
‘You guessed it? What if I just had a fight with someone else and had been upset over that?’  
  
‘Did you?’ he said mockingly.  
  
‘No, but-,’ she shrugged.  
  
‘One of the advantages of being a known Master at Legilimency is that people assume you can see every single one of their secrets. It causes them to fear you tremendously. If you, then, take some time studying body language and use your common sense, you are able to deduce an awful lot without magic. If you deduce these things (especially on first contact with someone), it will further enhance their belief your skill is frighteningly enormous and they will be even less inclined to try to lie to you, which saves me the bother of having to invade every dolt’s mind to screen their pathetic and unoriginally boring thoughts,’ he said, sniggering.  
  
‘So you bluff?’ Hermione said disbelievingly; and she shook her head, baffled.   
  
‘What you call bluff, I’d call using one’s intelligence,’ he replied smugly. ‘People are unimaginatively predictable in their behaviour. If you can spot a lie without magic, Hermione, why waste the energy?’   
  
Hermione just stared at him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It took her quite some effort to not let her jaw drop and stand there, with her mouth open, looking like an idiot; but she managed,  _just._  
  
‘For instance, science determined that the eyes of people who lie to you turn upward to the left,’ Voldemort lectured on. ‘People, who tell you the truth, have their eyes focusing on the right side of their brain.’   
  
‘Because they are trying to remember,’ Hermione added, drawing out of her stupor. ‘For lying you need to access your creative side of the brain, which lies to the left.’  
  
‘Exactly. Finally some sign you actually read the books I gave you.’   
  
She narrowed her eyes.   
  
‘Now back to real Legilimency. As I said there are several stages, all reaching-’  
  
‘-into the brain at a different layer, depending on the severity of the Legilimency attack,’ Hermione quoted, folding her arms over each other, glaring at him. Really, she had read that book also. She had nothing to do for the past few days but sit on her arse and read. So, why was he wasting her time going over this bullshit again?  
  
Lord Voldemort moved his arms behind his back and stared back. ‘Hogwarts,’ he casually commented, wand still in hand.  
  
 _What?_  Hermione looked at him, puzzled. What did Hogwarts have to do with their discussion on the stages of Legilimency? Talk about your out-of-the-blue change in subject.  
  
‘The castle seen from the boats, the view from the Astronomy Tower, the library, Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and the oaf in his hut.’  
  
Hermione gaped at him. Those were the things which meant Hogwarts to her; though she would never describe Hagrid as an oaf. Why? What? How? He’d been in her mind and she hadn’t noticed,  _again!_  Crap. She averted her eyes immediately.  
  
‘Ah, finally a sensible action,’ he said approvingly. ‘However,’ his wand flashed.   
  
Suddenly, she had no more control over her body. Her head moved on its own, and she couldn’t do anything but look into his eyes, despite the wand in her hand. Her mind was screaming at her to look away; terror flooded through her body; and yet, she kept looking straight into his gaze.   
  
‘As you see, the defence of avoiding eye contact is only useful to some extend; but will do if you’re not alone with Dumbledore,’ Voldemort said calmly. He stepped towards her and grabbed her jaw threateningly. ‘Reading is not the same as experiencing. Do not question my methods again. Is that clear?’   
  
‘Y-yes,’ she stuttered fearfully.  
  
‘Good.’   
  
He paused for a moment and removed his hand, brushing her curls in the process. However, he kept the hex in place that forced her to keep meeting his eyes, as he continued instructing.   
  
‘The first stage of Legilimency brings you into the short-term memory of your victim. Its uses are primarily given in it being virtually undetectable as you’ve noticed. This gives an attacker the chance to browse someone’s memory multiple times at any given situation without being compromised in doing so. One has to be a Master at Occlumency to identify the breach and only a mere few ever reach that level of skill after years and years of training. Since I doubt you want to spend years being cooped up in here, we will not be focusing on gaining you the ability to identify a Stage One Legilimency attack; our focus will lie strictly on learning you to repel one continuously.’  
  
He started circling her and she moved with him, her eyes never leaving his. She had no choice in the matter.  
  
‘Another important aspect you need to be aware of with this first stage of Legilimency, Hermione, is that it gives its performer a quick insight into what his victim values most about any given trigger. I said Hogwarts and your memory placed those images which are most important to you belonging to that trigger at the forefront of your mind.’   
  
He stopped walking, halting their almost dance-like movement, and continued his speech softly.   
  
‘There are also a couple of huge downsides to this type of Legilimency. It hands the performer only brief flashes, which can be quite meaningless on their own. For instance, when I said Hogwarts to you, the visuals your memory supplied me with did not tell me it’s a magical school. So, if I knew nothing of Hogwarts and you, I’d have no use for those memories at all. I might even have thought I’d accessed the wrong short-term memory and that you did not respond to my trigger.   
  
This is also the other downside to Stage One Legilimency; short-term memories are very fleeting, you have to be alert to catch the right visuals with your trigger, Also, due to their transient nature, it’s almost impossible to link the right emotion to them.   
  
Tell me, Hermione,’ he whispered, stepping so close she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. Heat radiated against her, despite the lack of contact. She realised it was the sheer force of his magic, which swarmed around her. ‘If it’s impossible to avoid eye contact, how would you defend yourself against-?’ he traced her neckline with his wand and added, grinning wickedly when she shivered, ‘-such an attack?’   
  
She nearly panicked when the meaning of his words finally sank in. Shit, he was going through her mind again. Ermmm, what had she read about defence again? Oh yeah, you had to keep the attacker away from the trigger he wanted to observe. But how could you do that if you had no idea what he was fishing for to find or that he was fishing at all?   
  
 _Keep changing the subject in your mind!_  
  
Short-term memory is quickly erased when it’s supplied with new input. You needed to think of all kinds of different things. No not Harry! Not the Weasleys either. Crap, now she thought of her parents. Harry saving Sirius with his Patronus. Nice Order Members. Harry talking to her, gesturing with his arms in clear aggravation. Ginny walking by with a little black book in her hands. Harry, this time on his broom evading the dragon. Oh great, Granger, brilliant, will you stop thinking of information he is not supposed to be privileged to! Harry speaking Parseltongue.’  
  
‘Trying hard NOT to think of things I shouldn’t know about?’ Voldemort stated, amused.   
  
Her pupils dilated. How did he reach that conclusion?  
  
‘I am seeing Potter far too many times,’ he grinned, answering the question she didn’t vocalise.  
  
She opened her mouth, but he shushed her with his finger on her lips before she spoke. ‘Keep trying,’ he ordered.  
  
But she didn’t know what to think about! Her mind raced, more flashes of Harry. Crap, crap, crap. She was useless, utterly useless at things like this. She could do the theory, but she didn’t have Harry’s instinct to think on her feet. Oh no, now she thought of Harry again! She was such a failure. The possibility of fail grades, her panic attacks before exams, her inability to repel her Boggart at her practical third year D.A.D.A. final, crying in the bathroom for not having any friends.’  
  
Voldemort shook her violently. ‘Now you are giving me weapons to use against you, Granger; try to be a bit smarter in your choices. You’re going about them fast enough, but you’re still keeping it to one theme, which in itself makes it possible for me to link your emotions to them. Alternate between innocent subjects.’  
  
Innocent subjects? But she didn’t have any innocent subjects, everything in her life revolved around the fight against Him. Quirrell, The Chamber of Secrets has been opened – enemies of the heir beware, The Dark Mark in the sky at the World Cup, two yellow eyes in her mirror.’  
  
‘Oh for crying out loud, you’re not even trying,’ Voldemort said, letting out a frustrated hiss in annoyance. His wand flashed and he swirled away.   
  
Suddenly able to move again, which she was totally unprepared for, made Hermione stumble a couple of steps backwards. She bumped into her desk. ‘I am trying,’ she hissed angrily at his back. ‘My mind just drew a blank on innocent subjects.’  
  
‘Recite the alphabet, count to one-hundred or more, name all the Potions you know, start making Arithmancy equations in your mind, make lists of colours, countries, rivers, cities, other geographical locations, stars, breeds of dogs, dragons, all magical creatures.’ He turned around abruptly, and asked tauntingly, ‘Is this enough material or does your feeble mind need me to hand you more clues to consider?’   
  
Blood rushed to her face. Well, if he put it like that, it sounded simple enough.   
  
‘But it is not simple, Hermione Granger; perhaps you need a little lesson to be bit more …  _motivated?’_    
  
He, slowly, caressed his wand in a contemplating manner, while speaking that last word; and all the blood that had just rushed to her face fled the scene quickly. Something the rest of her body was incapable of doing. A chill fell upon her. She tensed, clutching to her wand, remembering the total ineffectiveness her Shield Charm had against him. Not to mention that Unforgivables were unstoppable anyway.   
  
‘I am motivated. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. I want to learn this.’ She rushed out the sentences, until she no longer knew what to say. ‘I-I…’  
  
His eyes moved away from his wand and he looked at her quietly.   
  
‘Let me try again; please,’ she added the last word quickly. No harm in being polite if it could prevent you from experiencing the Cruciatus Curse. ‘I’ll do better.’  
  
His gaze bore into hers, seemingly weighing her resolve. After what felt like forever, he inclined his head. ‘Very well, but let’s get this clear between us, I am not in the habit of repeating myself endlessly.’  
  
 _Yeah, that much she gathered._  
  
He gestured with his hand for her to come to him and she listened, stopping in front of him. He cupped her cheek, lifting her head, and the same hex struck her. They started again.   
  
Hermione soon came to realise that cities or other geographical locations were risky; because her mind began to dwell on things she had seen and done there. So, she finally stuck to counting numbers, reciting the alphabet or doing Arithmancy equations in her mind. Arithmancy always had been her favourite subject and nothing else could occupy her mind when she was entranced in her calculations. It was silent for a very, very long time when suddenly he spoke.   
  
‘Have a seat,’ Voldemort offered.  
  
A seat? Was it over? No, he hadn’t undone the hex. Why would he want them to sit down? What was he planning?  
  
‘Your mind is yet again supplying me with crystal-clear, chronological images of what you are thinking,’ he replied warningly.   
  
 _Oh, that’s why._  
  
They sat down. Now, where was she? She hit her head with her hand. That didn’t matter. Just start over. One, two, three. Crap, it was a lot harder if you actually had to pay attention to other things as well. Er – one, two, three.  
  
‘Something to drink?’ Voldemort asked, eyeing her sharply.  
  
Four, five, six. Drink? Tea or coke? Seven. She felt a bit chilly. Eight, nine. ‘Tea would be nice.’  
  
‘Sugar?’ he teased.  
  
Damn, this was hard. Nine, eight, seven. ‘No thanks,’ she responded hastily, causing him to smirk. Nine, ten.  
  
He leaned toward her and reached for her hands.  
  
What was he doing? Six, seven, six.   
  
He placed the cup in her hands, knowing she couldn’t follow the movement with her eyes at the moment.   
  
 _Oh._  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.   
  
Ten, twelve, no eleven. Terrific, now, she couldn’t count anymore. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Is that a headache coming up? Fourteen, fifteen.  
  
She took a sip. Mmm… delicious – er – Where was she again? One, two, three.   
  
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles over one another and stretching out his arms above his head, before placing his hands (still holding his wand) behind his head. Lounging comfortably, he started a conversation with a devious grin on his face. He felt this was turning out to be quite entertaining. The hilarious things she thought at times! It had been hard to keep his face blank. The girl’s mind was pretty sardonic.  
  
Every now and then, he checked the time, while trying to distract her from her attempts to keep him from extracting anything useful out of her thoughts. She did pretty reasonable for a first time try. Even more so if you took under consideration, they were already long past the moment most people would have keeled over. He could see she was certainly getting tired, but her mind kept up the process of interlacing her thoughts with useless number counting.   
  
The problem he was currently facing was that he had to know the boundaries of her mind as well as make sure to stop before she failed. He’d read her file and seen enough in her mind to know that would not be helpful in her case. She’d take it personally. In fact if he wanted to destroy this witch, it wouldn’t be too hard. She was very insecure for someone that bright. Yes, he had to stop now. The boundaries would have to come at a later date. He wasn’t about to ruin someone who could become quite useful to him and had this much potential.   
  
His wand flashed, undoing the hex. He watched quietly how she sighed in relief, blinked and averted her eyes. Her hands went to her head, and she rubbed her eyes before massaging her fingers through her hair all the way to the back of her neck. Headache no doubt.   
  
‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ he praised her, making sure not to overdo it. He didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. ‘The longest anyone has ever lasted against me, and I had to end it, for I have a meeting to attend to in a couple of minutes. We will have to time the exact duration you can withstand me in the near future. It’s always a useful thing to know your limitations, especially if you might be confronted with an interrogation situation someday.’  
  
Hermione groaned with her head almost between her knees.  
  
Considering the things he’d witnessed her think before, he was confident all sorts of pretty darn less charitable thoughts about him were making their way through the girl’s mind right now.   
  
To his surprise, however, (since most people did their absolute best to avoid his gaze after he had spent some time attacking their minds) Hermione looked up and faced him, placing her hands in her lap as she leaned back in her chair. ‘If Stage One Legilimency is relatively non-invasive, then why am I exhausted right now?’  
  
He smiled. ‘Au contraire to the other forms of Legilimency, it only costs the victim energy if he or she tries to stop the attacker from gaining the information.’  
  
‘So, if I just let you browse away, I’d be fine?’   
  
‘Yes, with this type you would. It’s the concentration it takes to constantly remind yourself what to think that makes this defence tiring to both the body and mind.’  
  
‘You said, “Au contraire to other forms of Legilimency”,’ Hermione inquired questioningly.  
  
He nodded calmly. ‘With all the other forms, the attack in itself is draining on its victim whether you try to stop it from happening or not.’  
  
 _Oh goody, something to look forward to._  
  
He smirked, picking up the wayward thought and seeing her sudden pale face and the distinct manner in which she fiddled with her hands in her lap. She obviously was not looking forward to their next lesson. He rose from his chair and placed his hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked up; the question etched on her face.   
  
‘You did surprisingly well today. Don’t worry about tomorrow,’ he said reassuringly. He squeezed her shoulder gently and turned away. ‘I’ll take a look at what you wrote for your assignment,’ he said, walking to the door calmly. ‘And we can discuss your answers tomorrow too.’ He opened the door and looked back at her. ‘Get some rest, and don’t try anything foolish with your wand. Without my mark, these wards,’ his eyes darted the air around him, checking to see if the strength of his wards were to his satisfaction one last time, before he said, ‘are quite  _damaging_  to the human body.’  
  
Hermione nodded silently.  
  
Lord Voldemort locked the door behind him. Contemplating the situation, he took a deep breath. He’d been right to stop when he did. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep right now and slept till morning. She’d been far more exhausted than she appeared on first glance. He had to make sure to remember this detail about her. With Stage Three Legilimency he couldn’t afford any slip-ups. Though he had never put someone into the permanent ward of St. Mungo’s by accident, he didn’t want to start with her.   
  
As he walked away, he wondered how long it would take her to try something “unfavourable” with her wand. He had deliberately turned his back or otherwise given her an opening to make a move on him, but he had to give the girl credit for her self-restraint. She certainly wasn’t your everyday Gryffindor fool, who would have taken the first shot he got and lost everything because of his impatience. No, she was definitely buying her time for the right opportunity – how very Slytherin of her. He sniggered. She’d be in for a real nasty surprise when that opportunity would present itself, a real nasty surprise.


	11. Chapter 11

**  
  
Chapter Eleven**  
  
‘Interesting,’ Dumbledore said, glancing over the scroll for a moment to look at the boy seated on the other side of his desk.   
  
Despite the summer holiday, he found himself having to remain in Hogwarts almost twenty-four/seven these days. So many things had to be taken care of before September. Having to divide his time between the Ministry, the Order, the Council, Lord Voldemort and his cronies, Horcruxes, Harry, Draco, Hermione, finding Horace, and the normal Hogwarts proceedings, he doubted he would see the inside of his own house at all this year.   
  
‘Very interesting indeed,’ he mumbled, reading on.   
  
Restlessly, Draco Malfoy sat on his chair. He’d been moving from one side to the other constantly, his nerves not quite up to the challenge of having the Hogwarts Headmaster read his essay on Controlled Casting in front of him. So far, Professor Dumbledore hadn’t used the quill in his hand once to correct anything Draco had written down. Draco tensed when Dumbledore made a move with his hand, but the man halted his quill inches from the parchment thoughtfully.   
  
‘No, no, if you take Kolinsky under consideration, it’s also an option,’ he muttered to himself, and put the quill down again without touching the parchment.   
  
Draco tried hard not to keep looking at the shrivelled hand; but somehow his eyes continuously drew to it. Merlin, he’d be doing the old coot a favour, putting him out of his misery. It looked like he had begun to rot before lying down in his grave. Draco wrinkled his nose. It really was disgusting. Why didn’t the man wear a glove to cover it up? Did he have to force his disabilities on others? Yuck.  
  
At last, Dumbledore placed the scroll down. Contemplatively, his bright blue eyes bore over his half-moon glasses into Draco’s eyes. ‘This essay is acceptable,’ Dumbledore said, folding his hands together; his elbows leaning on his desk, which caused the sleeves of his dark-blue robe to drop and reveal his wand. It was attached to the base of his arm in some kind of invisible method.  
  
‘Acceptable?’ Draco thought upset. ‘Acceptable! He hadn’t made any corrections! Acceptable wouldn’t cut it; the Mudblood-’  
  
‘I’d appreciate it if you were to refrain from using such derogatory words in my office, Draco,’ Dumbledore said coolly. ‘I may not be able to monitor your behaviour outside of it, but in here you will show the proper respect to all those around you.’  
  
Draco turned pale; the man had been inside his mind and he hadn’t noticed. For how long?   
  
‘Is this clear to you?’ asked Dumbledore when there was no response.  
  
‘Yes, Professor,’ Draco muttered softly.   
  
‘Good,’ Dumbledore said, turning his attention back to the scroll in front of him. ‘Now as I said, this is an acceptable first draft. You have covered all the basics, so it will most certainly be of enough quality to the other Keepers. However, I fear some of this will prove to be impossible to actually perform and there is a practical exam attached to this essay.’ He looked up. ‘Tell me, Draco, how do you plan to show your skill in Controlled Casting?’   
  
Draco frowned. How did he plan to show his skill? Wasn’t he supposed to learn that shit from Dumbledore? After all, last time he checked he’d been assigned to the –  _oh so_  – lucky task of apprenticing to a sugar junkie – not the other way around. So why did he have to think of an answer? Dumbledore should just supply him with it. He was the bloody guide. Merlin’s beard, after all those lemon drops, it was no wonder the man’s hand was rotting; he wondered how much damage Dumbledore’s brain had sustained, considering his boring speeches every year it was bound to be more substantial than the rot in his hand.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled.   
  
See, the man was mental. There was absolutely nothing to laugh about and…  _Sweet Salazar, not again!_  
  
He needed those lessons from his aunt quickly and not just for Snape. But he hadn’t been able to find the damn books on Occlumency in his father’s library. The whole section was cleaned out completely – probably during the ministerial raid on his house, right after his father got arrested. He had to go to Flourish and Blotts after this meeting and buy them again. Pretty weird though, them taking those books, it wasn’t like those were illegal and they hadn’t even found the real dark arts items in the mansion. And why was he thinking this right now? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He needed to deal with the subject at hand.  
  
‘Am I not supposed to learn Controlled Casting from you, Professor?’ asked Draco, fiddling with his hands. He really didn’t have a clue how to get McMullen’s theory to work. He had tried, but nothing.   
  
‘Yes, but as your guide, I have the responsibility of teaching you everything in concurrence with the theory you wish to uphold,’ Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair.   
  
Draco frowned. ‘But what if my theory on Controlled Casting is incorrect?’ he asked, worried.   
  
‘Then you will fail.’  
  
Gasping, Draco stared at Dumbledore. ‘But-but…’  
  
‘Your essay is of acceptable standards; the theory you are following commonly accepted as the truth. However,’ Dumbledore said, rising from his chair. ‘No one has ever been able to use McMullen’s Theory of Everything in reality when it comes down to undoing an already cast spell. Some say it is simply a lack of wizarding powers that causes wizards to fail performing his solution, and there are a mere few who claim the theory is flawed.’  
  
‘If no one has ever been able to do it, then why give us this assignment?’ asked Draco, baffled, and somewhat annoyed with the stupid Keepers. This wasn’t the first silly task he had to make, after all. He followed Dumbledore with his eyes as the man strolled around.  
  
‘It’s seen as the ultimate achievement in Controlled Casting – its Holy Grail if you will. We strive to find the very best to join our council, so sometimes we ask for something we don’t expect to be delivered – just to check the creativity and power of our candidates.’   
  
Dumbledore halted his movement around the room to scratch Fawkes under his beak. The phoenix closed its eyes and leaned his head back in delight, while Dumbledore stared off into thin air. Draco waited, impatiently, for the man to resume his explanation.   
  
‘In all the years of existence of the Council of Fourteen, there has only been one candidate who finished this assignment fully and he wasn’t a particular fan of McMullen’s theory,’ Dumbledore said, a small smile on his lips.  
  
‘Was that you, Professor?’ Draco asked, leaning forward eagerly.  
  
‘No,’ Dumbledore responded, his eyes twinkling. ‘No, it is safe to say it was not me, nor am I qualified or willing to teach you his method. There are certain … drawbacks one must overcome to use it. It is my firm belief the price is too steep.’  
  
Draco slumped down in his chair, disappointed.  
  
‘You can make it to the next round without being able to fulfil this practical to one-hundred percent completion, Draco,’ Dumbledore said reassuringly. ‘But you will need to show sufficient aptitude in controlling your magical powers and the spells you cast. And you need to do it in concurrence with the theory in your essay.’  
  
Draco looked down at the floor, thoughtfully, thinking of the right thing to ask. ‘What would you do, Professor? Keep the essay like it is or would you change something?’  
  
‘It is your path, your decisions that will determine the outcome for you - whether that be light, grey or dark.’   
  
Now what was that supposed to mean? See, this was why he needed another teacher. The man would drive him mental with these constant vague statements.   
  
‘It’s only vague to those who do not know their path.’  
  
Draco closed his eyes, groaning. ‘I know what I want to achieve.’  
  
‘Do you really?’ Dumbledore asked curiously, halting his stroll around the office a few feet away from Draco’s chair. Looking down, he said seriously, ‘Or do you just follow orders, Draco? Tell those more powerful than you what you think they want to hear, instead of listening to your own heart and mind?’  
  
‘I am my own person! I make up my own mind!’ Draco shouted, jumping to his feet so he would be at least somewhat on equal level. He already had this debate with his mother; he didn’t feel like repeating it.  
  
‘My dear boy, I hope so,’ Dumbledore said, sighing tired, ‘because following those bend on pain and destruction will not lead to happiness.’  
  
‘Can we keep this to the point?’ Draco hissed furiously. ‘I may have to be your apprentice, but I have no interest in these lectures.’  
  
‘These lectures could have been avoided had you read my letter,’ Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Draco’s shoulder.  
  
‘I saw what happened to Granger,’ Draco snarled, jerking his shoulder back. ‘What do you think I am, a fool?’  
  
Dumbledore shook his head sadly, and walked away. ‘No,’ he said, halting in front of the window overseeing the Quidditch pitch and the mountains in the distance. ‘No, I would never mistake you for a fool. However, being an apprentice is more than just fulfilling this essay-assignment. The essay is a means to an end, Draco, not the other way around. You will learn.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You will learn, and you are very fortunate that - unlike Hermione’s guide - I take no pleasure in causing pain in others.’   
  
He swirled around, brandishing his wand. Draco Malfoy never even had the chance to blink his eyes before the Dream Charm hit him and he crashed to the floor fast asleep.   
  
\---  
  
As Lord Voldemort locked the door behind him, Hermione realised she felt a whole lot better about herself and her abilities now; even though she was tired as hell, felt a pounding headache coming up, and was a bit nauseated. She smiled satisfied and rose out of her chair. She would lie down on the bed for awhile to rest and then undertake the now seemingly impossible hard task of showering. She was glad when she plummeted in bed and felt the soft pillow caressing her head. This was so much better.   
  
Still, it had been an insightful day. She didn’t think she ever learned that much on a practical subject this quickly. You could really tell Lord Voldemort knew an awful lot on the subject. At least she hadn’t made an absolute fool of herself, while trying to keep him out. She’d been worried about it beforehand, while reading the books on Legilimency and Occlumency. Worried she wouldn’t be able to keep him out for even a second. He was known for his skill in this area after all, and with her being his apprentice and a Muggle-born and so on, it would have been devastating if she had failed. But he’d actually complimented her. It was such a huge relief. She pulled the other pillow over and hugged it to belly. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as bad as she had envisioned it to be. He’d actually been quite civilized to her – he’d been civilized to her, she repeated slowly.   
  
Shocked, her eyes widened as the truth of the cause of her emotions began to sink in. He’d seen her fear of failure; she’d shown him that memory herself and he hadn’t taken advantage of it. He hadn’t taken advantage of any of her horrible weaknesses she had shown him. Instead he had reassured her, made her feel good about herself. He’d complimented her, a Mudblood! He had to be plotting something, no doubt something involving Harry. She was his best friend after all. Suspicion became her new primary emotion, followed quickly with anger at herself.   
  
 _By Merlin, that man really was a Master Manipulator and she had fallen for it._  
  
She slammed her hand to her forehead for being so stupid to let Lord Voldemort reassure you and buy it. Agh! She had to be really exhausted if she fell for nonsense like that - really, really exhausted. After everything she’d heard from Ginny about Tom Marvolo Riddle, she still had walked straight into his trap – not noticing for a second, he was feeding her a load of balls. He probably had laughed at her expense afterwards, making fun of her gullibility.   
  
God, why had she even wanted his approval? It wasn’t like it mattered what the likes of him thought of her. Really, was she ever going to stop caring so much about what everybody else in the whole, wide world thought of her? Irritated with herself, she rolled to her other side. She had to make sure this was not happening again; she’d see to it; this would not happen again – never, ever again. She was only here for that blasted assignment and that was it. She had to keep her eye on the ball or it would drop on her head and kill her for sure.   
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
  
Still angry about her stupidity, she fell fast asleep, not knowing it would take her more than forty-eight hours to recover and wake again. Not knowing this simple fact had strengthened the resolve of a certain Dark Lord that she was worthy and that he had to speed up his plans for her.  
  
\---  
  
Hermione woke, feeling a bit dazed. She swung her legs out of bed and sat up, looking at a blurry Buckingham Palace in the enchanted window. She sighed and rubbed her eyes out, trying to get them to focus. It didn’t help much.  
  
After Lord Voldemort had left, she had wanted to lie down and rest a moment before taking a shower; but, apparently, she had fallen asleep in her clothes instead. So now, she definitely needed to shower. She sniffed at her clothes. Ugh, she stank.  
  
However, she didn’t feel particularly well. Carefully, she scooted over to the corner of the bed and used its post to stand up. A bit wobbly on her feet, she held it with both hands, waiting for the room to stop spinning. It seemed to take forever, so she closed her eyes and rested her head against the post, too.   
  
 _Okay, how was she going to get to the bathroom without falling down?_    
  
Sheer willpower, she decided. The room was after all stationary. This was only her mind, playing tricks on her. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, let go of the post, stepped away, and fell flat on her face.   
  
 _So much for willpower._  
  
Well, she guessed crawling was also a method of getting there. She was about to start when his cold voice came seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
‘Resting comfortably?’ he mocked.  
  
‘Early morning exercise,’ she sneered.   
  
A snort was followed by a chair creaking, as Lord Voldemort abandoned his seat and walked towards her. His robe bellowed around his shiny black shoes when he halted nearby her head. She truly hoped he was wearing something underneath it if he planned to get any closer, because that so was a visual she didn’t fancy to implant in her mind.   
  
 _Eww… Eyes firmly on the floor, Granger._  
  
Thank Merlin, she was lying on her belly. It was relatively easy to place her forehead on her clasped hands and not see a damn thing.  
  
‘Investigating the floor for woodworm infestations?’ he continued.  
  
‘Nope, but someone definitely should mop underneath this bed,’ she quipped back.  
  
‘I’ll get you a broom,’ he replied loosely, squatting down.   
  
‘I don’t like flying.’  
  
‘Is that so?’ Voldemort said, suddenly interested. ‘As in you don’t like it or … you  _really_  don’t like it?’  
  
 _Too much info, Granger, just keep your big mouth shut for once._  
  
The silence made him snigger. ‘Oh, you  _really_  don’t like it,’ he concluded rightfully, while planting a vial with a filthy-brownish, cloudy syrup in front of her head.   
  
Hermione lifted her head slightly on hearing the soft clang. ‘What on earth is that?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose.   
  
‘A combination of Wit-Sharpening Potion, Memory Elixir and a little something extra,’ he explained vaguely.  
  
‘Looks delicious,’ she commented, putting her forehead back on her hands, not touching the vial.   
  
‘It’s the something extra, isn’t it?’ he asked, amused.  
  
‘No, it’s basically the entire contents of that vial altogether.’  _Constant vigilance. Even lying face down on the wooden floorboards in a swirling world with the Dark Lord squatting beside you._  
  
‘Maybe you’ll feel better about it if I told you Severus Snape made it?’  
  
‘For whom?’ Hermione asked suspiciously. She was definitely not taking it if Professor Snape made it for him. She didn’t fancy dying a slow, painful death – thank you very much.  
  
Voldemort laughed. ‘For himself. I never drink another’s potions, unless I have observed them brew it.’  
  
‘Paranoid much?’  
  
‘I am not the one face-down on the floor, refusing to take something that would relieve my symptoms immediately.’  
  
‘Touché.’ Hermione looked up briefly, and placed her head back.   
  
‘Still not convinced it is not poisonous?’ he taunted.  
  
‘It’s not looking any better upon a second glance.’  
  
He snorted; she heard his robes ruffling near her head; a “pop”, which she reckoned indicated the uncorking of the vial. ‘Do you prefer the Imperius Curse or should I use physical force to pour it down your throat right this instance?’ he threatened.  
  
Hermione sighed, withdrew a hand from underneath her head and held it out. The cool, smooth surface of the glass vial was pressed against her palm immediately. She closed her hand around it and brought it to her mouth. ‘So nice to have all these choices,’ she muttered sarcastically, before downing the potion at once. ‘Ugh,’ she shivered. ‘Not to mention it tastes just as good as it looks.’   
  
‘I’m sure you will greatly enjoy sixth year’s Potions classes after I’ve informed Severus that Hermione Granger stated his potion needs improving.’  
  
‘Tattletale.’  
  
‘Whenever it suits my interests.’  
  
They remained silent for awhile, motionless. Hermione waited for some horrible pain to set in. Sure as she was that Snape would have found a method to slip something in there without Voldemort noticing, thinking the man was lying about needing the potion for another. Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, was just waiting for her to move again. Sure as he was that Snape would not dare to mess with a potion he required from him, even if he never told the man who it was for.  
  
‘Feeling any better already?’ asked Voldemort, his impatience finally kicking in.   
  
Surprisingly to Hermione, the answer was yes. The daze, blurriness and even her fatigue subsided – she hadn’t noticed how tired she still felt, until it was gone. Carefully, she pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and moved her head around. Nothing swirled anymore. A hand came into focus in front of her face. She took it.   
  
 _Eh, if by some dastardly deed this potion contained slow-working venom and was contagious, she’d take him down with her._  
  
But nothing dastardly happened as he pulled her to her feet. She never felt better. It was amazing. ‘Salamander blood?’ she asked Voldemort, remembering it was a vital ingredient in Strengthening Solution.   
  
He nodded. ‘And what else?’  
  
Hermione frowned. It couldn’t be, but it had had some of that same odour that Ron’s arms had had for awhile. ‘It smelled like Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction, but that’s an ointment,’ she said doubtfully.  
  
‘An ointment against scarring by thoughts,’ Voldemort said explanatory. ‘Ten times diluted, you add three drops to your potion, and it helps to depolarise the neural fibres of the brain after extensive Legilimency attacks.’   
  
 _Oh._    
  
Seriously, Lord Voldemort’s eyes gazed up and down her body. ‘You’re sure you’re alright?’   
  
Hermione nodded. ‘I feel fine, better than fine actually.’  
  
‘Name all the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion,’ he ordered.  
  
 _What? Why?_  She made a face.  
  
‘Humour me.’  
  
Hermione raised her shoulders, but complied anyway. ‘Lacewing flies stewed twenty-one days, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, knotgrass, fluxweed picked at full moon, shredded boomslang skin, and a bit of someone you want to turn into,’ she finished, watching him puzzled.  
  
‘That’s all seven, not including the details; your memory is undamaged.’  
  
‘Undamaged?’ Hermione asked wide-eyed; as in there was a doubt?  
  
‘You’ve got one of those few minds that can compartmentalise to such a degree that you either totally shutdown or you still function. It’s the only explanation for these symptoms you just had, and it tells me why you were able to continue occluding me so long. It’s a good thing we had to stop. I was planning to search for the boundaries of your mind; see how long you could last, but that’s too risky given the physiology of your brain.’   
  
‘There is something wrong with the physiology of my mind?!’ Hermione exclaimed, worried.  
  
‘On the contrary, it’s a very useful trade to possess. It means that - with the proper training - you can outlast an attack on your mind to a point others won’t expect anyone to be able to. It means your body can take extreme duress without compromising your ability to think.’ She noticed the peculiar glance he gave her, while speaking that last sentence; but she had no time to question it, because he continued, ‘The downside is, Hermione, you will have almost no warning sign before a total neural shutdown occurs. Others will experience severe symptoms, but with you they will be mild, seemingly insignificant – like a little forgetfulness here, minor errors you normally wouldn’t make there – until  ** _boom!_** ’ He clapped his hands together in front of her face, making her jump. ‘It’s all over, permanently.’   
  
Hermione turned pale, stumbled back, and sat down on the bed for support. Did that mean he couldn’t teach her Occlumency anymore? Oh God, she was going to be stuck here forever!  
  
Lord Voldemort began pacing the room to and fro. ‘I’ll have to inform Dumbledore,’ he said in a tone of voice like he had tasted something extremely foul and rotten. ‘His Legilimency powers are far too extensive to have him use them on you at full force. And he will use them to his full extend, because he will think I would have done or am going to do so, too. He will turn you into a vegetable upon searching for your mental boundaries. It’s a too steep a risk to consider taking it.’   
  
Voldemort halted in front of the mirror, loosened his shoulders, took a deep breath and continued pacing. ‘But he won’t take my word for your mental state. He’ll think it’s a ruse – a ploy from me to stop him from checking the weaknesses in your Occlumency skills, so I can later extract every little secret of his Poultry Order from you when you return.’ He stopped, tilted his head and smirked. ‘It would have been worth a try under normal circumstances,’ he said, sniggering, before he started pacing again.   
  
‘Still, this is quite fortunate. It will mean I only have to worry about another Master in Legilimency once we’ve trained you thoroughly enough in Occlumency, and he’ll only get the information from you if he’s willing to destroy your mind completely. Besides Dumbo and myself, there are only four who qualify for the title. Both Li and Volkova are far too holy to even consider risking another. Gellert has no wand, which leaves him incapable of doing his worst. That means we only have to worry about Nathaira and Dumbles. Nathaira,’ he trailed off, tapping with his wand-hand on his leg. ‘Nathaira could become a problem.’ He swirled around. ‘And Dumbo … how to stop him?’ he mused, stalking the room.  
  
It began to crate on her nerves, seeing that swirl of black robes pass again and again and again, while he mumbled on and on and on about the possibility of her turning brain-dead.   
  
‘Do you mind!?’ she finally yelled, jumping to her feet, thoroughly agitated out of fear for her possible mind-numbing future.   
  
He came to an abrupt stop and, slowly, turned to face her. ‘Excuse me?’ he asked quietly.   
  
She had yet to learn he was at his most dangerous when he spoke in that controlled, soft tone of voice. Harry could have warned her not to continue, to take cover and hide; but Harry wasn’t there, and she started ranting. ‘Really, do you think it is easy to hear I am at risk of losing my mind?! Or that I might be trapped here, due to that risk. And then, you just keep moving back and forth,’ she said exasperated, copying his movements with her arms in a blur. ‘Moving around like some energizer bunny on speed without coming up with any solutions at all. You’re driving me–’  
  
‘Crucio!’  
  
She doubled over, crashing to the floor, while clutching her belly. Pain unlike she ever felt before swirled through her body; it felt like her skin got scraped off with a blunt knife. Her organs twisted, like they were ripping apart inside her. An unearthly scream left her mouth continuously.   
  
 _Mental note; do not call Lord Voldemort an energizer bunny on speed again._  
  
The thought flew through her mind as she clawed at the floorboards, causing her nails to break and her fingers to bleed. The pain overwhelmed her every limb, her entire body, and it just kept continuing on and on and on. Her back arched violently, almost lifting her off of the floor. Another high-pitched scream left her lips.   
  
 _If this took much longer, she could say hi to Neville’s parents._  
  
She crashed down in a crumbled heap, shivering and breathing heavily, when he released her of her ordeal.  
  
‘As I warned you, Hermione Granger,’ Voldemort said softly, leaning with his shoulder against one of the bedposts casually, while twirling his wand in his hand, ‘a mind such as yours can take extreme duress to its body without the risk of going insane.’ He smirked. ‘It’s a very convenient thing for me to know. I won’t have to be careful or hold back on my power with any of my…’ Loosely, he whipped his wand in her direction, ‘Crucio!’  
  
Another round of her screaming and thrashing around on the floor occurred, until he seemed to have enough of it and lifted the curse. He pushed himself away from the bedpost and approached her slowly.  
  
‘And there is really nothing that helps Lord Voldemort think and consider all his options better than performing a nice couple of rounds of the Cruciatus Curse,’ he said, keeping a low, sibilant tone of voice, while circling her panting body like the predator he was.   
  
Hermione didn’t dare move or speak or do anything that might provoke him to start again. She just lay there, on her side, rolled up like a ball, tense; bracing for what could be the next impact. Something she felt was a very likely scenario, especially since the nutcase had just begun referring to himself in the third person again.   
  
‘It would be best to remember this, Hermione. You wouldn’t want to … make Lord Voldemort repeat himself, would you?’ he threatened in that same cold, quiet tone.  
  
 _Crap. Was she supposed to respond now or would opening her mouth be inadvisable?_  
  
If she didn’t reply and he wanted her to, then she would make him repeat himself, which would surely be the excuse he needed to continue his torture. However, it could be that he just wanted to see if she remembered why he started cursing her in the first place, and her opening her mouth would then be the pretext for him to curse her again. Ah damn, this was a trick question! There was no right answer.  
  
Since her big mouth was the reason she was in this predicament right now, she decided on staying silent. Godric only knew what little remark would set him off again.   
  
Lord Voldemort sat down on his heels beside her, causing his long spidery hand holding onto a piece of yew wood to fall within her line of sight. She wished it would snap in two right this very instance. But she hadn’t seen a shooting star or rubbed a bottle trice and spoken to its genie inside, so – alas – no such luck.  
  
He raised his wand at her face; she held her breath and closed her eyes; her muscles tensed to the point of near rupture. Meticulously, he traced the edge of her face with its tip, continuing along the carotid artery in her neck, passing the hollow of her collarbone, before moving back up the same path. It was too close a resemblance to her nightmare to be accidentally, wasn’t it? Oh please, don’t let him know. Please, please, please. Trembling severely, Hermione let out a ragged breath when he pressed his wand a little deeper into her neck.   
  
‘It seems you finally know your place, little apprentice,’ he whispered coldly into her ear; his breath caressing her skin, moving her curls. ‘When you’re done shivering on the floor like a stinking pig, I recommend you correct your writings. I’ll be back in four hours, and I’ll expect to read something of quality then instead of this Troll-worthy rubbish.’  
  
A long scroll of parchment landed on top of her head, while he rose. ‘Four hours,’ he hissed warningly, and stalked out of the room.  
  
Hermione let out a relieved breath when she heard the locks fall in place. She opened her eyes, finally having the nerve to do so again. Still shaking somewhat, she reached for the scroll and pulled it off of her head. Turning it around to the side which occupied her writings, she noticed it was filled with red annotations, cross outs, criticisms, and underlinings with arrows directed to questions, commentaries, or explanations he had scribbled on the side. She blinked and sat up instantaneously. Her previous ordeal shoved to the back of her mind as an insignificant memory, she moved quickly to the beginning of her scroll and began reading vigorously the many additions Lord Voldemort had written down on her essay.   
  
-


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**  
  
Hermione placed her hands at the sides of the top of her scroll and started scanning for his remarks. The first bit of her essay turned out pretty free of any red intrusions, until she started dripping blood all over it. Her fingertips were still severely damaged from clawing at the hard wood floor during the infliction of the Cruciatus Curse.   
  
 _Ouch! Why did the brain work in ways to make you aware of pain when you took notice of your wounds?_  
  
Quickly, she whipped out her wand.  
  
‘Episkey!’  
  
A really hot sensation was followed by a soothing cold one, healing her hands rapidly. She inspected her fingers thoroughly, and satisfied all her nails had returned, Hermione pocketed her wand. She picked up the parchment again and continued scanning it. When she got to the first sentence he’d placed a red circle around, she frowned. It was a logical conclusion derived from what she had written previously. She followed the red line towards the side of the parchment to read, “Explain further, council morons will be reading this.”  
  
Hermione lifted her eyebrow and shook her head.  _Like he was the only one, who would be able to understand the simple conclusion in one go. His ego wasn’t large._  
  
At the part where she completely trashed McMullen’s Theory of Everything, mocking his statements about reversing the polarity of one’s magic to undo an already cast spell, by explaining (via lengthy Arithmancy equations) this impossible feat could only be achieved if you increased the maximum power of your magic by tenfold, there was only one addition in the by-lines from Voldemort, “You are far too kind; a character flaw we surely will need to correct.”  
  
Then, he’d crossed out two entire paragraphs. “Trying to save Potter by boring me to death with your repetitive statements?”  
  
 _Okay, perhaps she had been a bit too annoyed with McMullen’s failure to provide her with an answer to her assignment and had rambled on._  
  
For the entire part of her essay that constituted of providing the reader insight into the various theories on Controlled Casting, Lord Voldemort’s additions were reasonably mild. It consisted of telling her to add a few bits here and there. He’d made a couple of funny, deeply sarcastic observations about some of the theories’ more speculative conclusions, which made her giggle; but she was sure it was not something he meant for her to add to a serious essay. And he’d scratched through all her sentences where she repeated herself.   
  
After several red-striped lines in close occurrence, she reached a sentence, which had been crossed out by more than one line of red ink in a seemingly agitated manner, considering the parchment had cracked slightly under the pressure. Next to it he’d added, “For every repetition without a significant reason I read in your next draft, you will find yourself on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse for an equal amount of time you have wasted mine.”   
  
 _Yikes! Talk about an incentive to stick to the point. She swore never to complain about Professor Snape’s teaching methods ever again; hand to God._  
  
However, the really interesting part came when she reached the start of her opinion on Controlled Casting. Since she didn’t believe any of the existing theories were completely correct, she had had no other choice than start speculating on her own. This was problematic, seeing she also had some serious doubts about the validity of the Five Basic Laws of Magic. And to question those commonly accepted truths in her hypothesis would mean she had to deliver some pretty darn good reasoning as to why they were a load of crap to begin with. But she had tried nevertheless and … well…   
  
“What’s your basis for this statement?”  
“Are you sure those are ALL the factors which need mentioning?”   
“You’re forgetting to name the defining elements here.”  
“Can you proof any of this? If so, I’d like to see it mentioned. If not, leave it out.”   
“If you want to pull rabbits out of your hat, go to a muggle magic school.”  
“Lovely parts on Laws Two, Three and Four; but why did you leave out One and Five? Shouldn’t they be questioned too if you take this standpoint?”  
“This bit is in complete contradiction with your earlier statement on Law Three two paragraphs ago.”  
“Was your brain on vacation when you wrote this?”  
“What would truly define the value of the acceleration? Be more precise.”  
“If F=m*a, you need to focus on the mass part more extensively. You can’t ignore it by making it a constant just because it suits your theory.”  
“You’re complicating matters unnecessarily by adding Kolinksy’s methods here. They are irrelevant to your hypothesis.”  
“Wrong!”  
“How would one measure this?”  
“Work out whether or not you would say spell-speed is a factor in determining the outcome of cast spells and explain your answer.”  
“I am starting to appreciate McMullen’s theory now.”  
“Recheck chapter twenty-five of ‘Achievements in Charming’ on the behaviour of cast Charms and then look over this statement again.”  
“Not bad.”  
“What would determine the operating range of the power of an individual’s magic?”  
“You need to expand your definition of a Charm to make this viable.”  
“Keep this conclusion, but work on all your supporting arguments.”  
  
All in all, you could say she had her work cut out for her, and he’d said he’d be back in four hours. She’d never get it finished on time! Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, placed the written essay on the side of her desk and got a new scroll to write on. She skipped the first bit of the essay and started on her theory, since this was the primary part still in need of “work” as he so gently called having to rewrite basically everything. HA! She’d show him. She put her nose in the air and did a pretty good imitation of his haughty attitude, while she quoted him perfectly, annoying tone and all, ‘“I am starting to appreciate McMullen’s theory now”.’   
  
Ugh. That remark was so below the belt. She was not wordy in her answers; she was precise, making sure she included everything that mattered. Her written pieces always had… a–a comprehensive coverage. Yes, that’s the word – comprehensive. She was not wordy. She sniffed indignantly. No, she was not wordy.   
  
 _There, however, was someone else she knew who just loved the sound of his voice. Anyone cared to venture a guess?  
  
Good on you. Here, have a cookie.  
  
Oh no, no more cookies in the land! Too many correct replies._  
  
After awhile she was done letting of steam and started to work seriously on his comments. Very reluctantly, she had to admit they were pretty darn good, unlike the ones Professor Snape had made on her scroll on Calming Draught. Completely forgetting her solemn oath, Hermione felt herself getting pissed again, because Snape’s remarks had been so unfair. She’d rechecked everything in her textbook, and she hadn’t been wrong at all. Hermione was certain afterward that Snape had gone through great lengths to misinterpret everything that he could possibly misinterpret in her writings. She hoped he’d enjoyed wasting his evening to not give her the Outstanding she had deserved for it. Miserable old bat.  
  
Voldemort’s comments, though lacking any subtlety, were not spiteful but to the point and not made in a fashion that gave the answer straight away too. You had to think for yourself how you had to improve the contents. It reminded her a bit of the method Professor McGonagall used.   
  
 _Great, something else in her mind to worry about not revealing. It was becoming quite an extensive list. Pretty soon, the alphabet alone would become classified information._  
  
She’d got a long way theorising and writing, scratching certain things through again and building upon existing information in other places. But when she got to the part of the acceleration she claimed existed in the velocity of spells, she was thoroughly stuck. She’d been staring at it for awhile now and just couldn’t connect the dots.  
  
‘The acceleration has to be based on the force behind the spell. If you cast the same spell its mass would have to be the same; but if you want it to travel faster, you have to place more power behind it,’ Hermione muttered out loud, scratching her neck. She had already stated that previously, and apparently, it had not been enough. ‘The power of the individual – er – you cast a spell on something; it moves through the air and then it… Oh that’s rubbish. Spells don’t have to travel through air per se,’ she mumbled, annoyed with herself.   
  
Scribbling all kinds of meaningless figures on the edge of the parchment, she stared at the enchanted window again. A deer walked out the forest and looked at her. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You don’t happen to know the answer, do you?’   
  
The deer began grazing at the grass. ‘Didn’t think so,’ Hermione added, rubbing her neck. ‘So spells get cast, they travel… They travel through something! Water, air, shields! Resistance, she had forgotten about resistance! The amount of acceleration would depend on the amount of resistance the spell comes in contact with,’ she concluded triumphantly.  
  
‘That sounds about right,’ his voice came from right above her.   
  
Hermione yelped in shock; her body jerked and she tossed over her inkbottle. ‘Oh damn it,’ she grumbled, pulling her wand. ‘Tergeo!’ The excess ink on her parchment disappeared as the last stubborn residues of snow in the spring which met the increased powers of the sun reluctantly.   
  
‘I had no idea Gryffindors were this jumpy,’ Voldemort mocked.   
  
Hermione turned her seat around and looked up. ‘Do you always have to sneak in?’  
  
He snorted. ‘What I did hardly qualifies as sneaking, my dear; you need to learn to pay more attention to your environment if you plan to survive this war.’  
  
‘I wasn’t aware it was an issue right now,’ she responded coolly.  
  
He placed his hands on her chair’s armrests, leaned forward and halted inches away from her face. ‘Survival is always an issue, Hermione Granger, always.’  
  
She looked at his nearly translucent snakelike face, his slit-for-nostrils absentee nose, those red slit-pupil eyes, and had no idea how to respond to that statement. So she said nothing. That strategy hadn’t got her in trouble,  _yet_.  
  
‘And there certainly are ways to greatly improve your chances, Hermione,’ he added smoothly, stroking a lock of her hair out of her face before placing his hand back on the armrest.   
  
She held her breath for a moment, but then, anger swirled through her body like a black cloud. ‘I like my chances just fine the way they are,’ she replied, tight-lipped, eyes narrowing. As far as she knew right now her life was not at risk.   
  
He smirked.   
  
Oh no, crap. Perhaps he’d found away around the rule preventing him from killing her? If so, she was really going to haunt Albus Dumbledore’s quarters after she died. If they thought Moaning Myrtle was annoying, then they ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.  
  
‘Forgetting what we’ve been practising about Legilimency and Occlumency?’ he taunted, sniggering.  
  
Her eyes widened. Abruptly, she looked down at his right hand. Damn, how did he get his wand in there without her noticing? She was certain his hands were empty when he placed them on the chair. Oh, that’s what the gesture with her hair had been about – such a relief.  
  
‘Ugh,’ she huffed, looking sideways in annoyance. She couldn’t believe she had let him trick her like that. She should have seen it coming. ‘Not fair.’  
  
‘Life is very unfair,’ he replied calmly. ‘You must learn to always keep your thoughts in check around known masters. This can only be achieved by practise.’  
  
‘I wasn’t aware we were practising,’ Hermione said, folding her arms over each other defensively, while keeping a steady look on the very interesting pink wall.  
  
‘If I’d made you aware beforehand, it would have defeated the whole purpose of this little exercise. Now, as much as I appreciate your diligence in making your studies a priority, Hermione, I do suggest you shower and change before we continue; because that smell you produce is really revolting,’ he said, letting go of the armrests and taking a couple of steps back to get some fresh air.   
  
 _Eh, if the effect was Him moving away, perhaps she should consider bottling it. Fred and George could make her a fortune._  
  
‘Meanwhile I will read what you wrote,’ Voldemort added.  
  
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Hermione said quickly; she did not like it when people read her incomplete drafts.  
  
‘Try looking into my eyes, my forehead, or at a lower point on my face from time to time while you talk, it will appear more natural than constant avoidance. You can’t act like this in company or they are going to know why you do what you do, and you can’t draw too much attention to your Occlumency skills or they are going to wonder why you need it around them. You have too many Aurors in that Order for it to go unnoticed.’   
  
How did he know that? Had she let something slip before? She couldn’t recall.  
  
‘And you need to work on keeping your posture steady, too. You’re an open book, Hermione. If I had been guessing just now, I’d know it was true by your demeanour alone.’  
  
 _Crap._  
  
‘Shower and change,’ he repeated, gesturing at her to get out of the chair. ‘I’ll read what you got so far.’  
  
Hermione rose and walked to the dresser. Well, he did have a point. She stank. If there were any skunk trophies to be won, she’d be a sure winner. When she received her scroll back, she’d forgotten about her previous resolve to go to the bathroom no matter if it meant crawling there. But now that she recalled wanting to shower, she really wanted to shower. The chair’s wheels made a screeching noise as Lord Voldemort sat down and rolled back toward the desk to read her writings. Hermione went through her beaded bag to get out her stuff, but decided she could choose more comfortably in the privacy of the bathroom and swung it around her shoulder.   
  
‘Hermione?’  
  
‘Yes?’ she asked, turning around in the door opening, facing him directly.  _One, two, three._  Her eyes darted sideways briefly.  _Eh, he wasn’t fooling her a second time. Five, six, seven._  
  
‘Emmeline Vance was very forthcoming before my Death Eaters killed her,’ he stated casually, as if he informed her of the condition of the weather outside. ‘She knew quite a large number of names, as I expected, seeing she was in that Order previously, too. Dumbledore really should be more careful in restricting the overhaul access of his members to vital information. I don’t hold parties to introduce all my Death Eaters to one another either. The less they know the less they can give away.’  
  
Hermione stood there, frozen in the doorway, completely forgetting to count again. But Lord Voldemort had already turned back to face the scroll in his hand.   
  
‘Not that their brains could hold more than one thought anyway,’ he muttered under his breath, slightly irritated. When he noticed she wasn’t moving, he shooed her away with his hand. ‘I don’t have all day, Granger.’  
  
 _Yeah, a Dark Lord’s day is never done – all those people to torture and kill; busy, busy, busy._  
  
Hermione shook her head and walked into the bathroom. She had never met Emmeline Vance, but she felt horrified to hear about her death and the subsequent leak of information. So many lives were at risk, and she was here, taking lessons from him. It was obscene. All of the sudden, she was in desperate need of that shower.   
  
However, during the shower Hermione realised she was being silly. As a matter of fact, she had a wonderful opportunity here. She was up close and personal to the man. He felt secure enough in their magical confidentiality agreement to chat away. She had till October, which would be the end of this Controlled Casting-assignment, to find out as much as she could about him and his entire operation. Even though she couldn’t share the info, she would know; and she would bloody well use it to help Harry.   
  
But that meant she had to complete this assignment in such a matter it would secure her candidacy as a future Keeper, because once you were cast aside as a viable candidate, you were obliviated of all knowledge you had obtained about their very existence. So, she had to beat Draco Malfoy – she just had to. It was true for so many more reasons than just helping Harry.   
  
However, it meant she had to pay close attention to everything Lord Voldemort could teach her. She swirled her wand around her head, having kept the dreadful task of drying her hair last. Normally, she’d prefer a towel wrapped around her head to give her hair potion time to prevent the subsequent explosion of frizz she was now dealing with. But call her silly, somehow she had a feeling Lord Voldemort would be unsympathetic to her hair issues; especially if she had to tell him the potion took a whole hour to settle. She snorted. He’d probably vanquish her hair and tell her, ‘Problem solved.’  
  
Hermione took one last look in the mirror at the disaster area that was her hair and tied it together in a ponytail. It didn’t help much. Bits and pieces were somehow sneaking out, escaping their confinement stubbornly. ‘Gah!’ she barked.   
  
She made a disparaging gesture at the mirror and turned away. She’d given just about anything to have Lavender or Ginny’s smooth locks – it was so much less work every morning. Not that one would say so when they occupied the girls’ bathrooms at Hogwarts. Hermione stuffed everything back in her bag and walked out, dressed in black pants and red T-Shirt. She shrieked as she almost ran into Lord Voldemort. Waiting for her heart to return to its rightful position a lot lower in her chest, she looked up, while dumping her bag back on the dresser with a distinct thud.   
  
 _Couldn’t he like stamp his feet or something; or was he deliberately trying to give her a heart attack every bleeding minute?_  
  
‘You have your wand on you, I assume?’ Voldemort questioned, looking down at her completely unfazed. ‘No need to show me,’ he added when she made a move with her hand to her pocket. His eyes darted to her hair, lingering there; his lipless mouth curled.  
  
 _Sure, like you are entitled to laugh about other people’s appearances. Pel-lease._  
  
She was very proud she remembered not to look into his gaze while thinking all that.  _One cookie for her._  
  
However, her hair was a sore topic, and she didn’t enjoy to be made fun of. So next thing, she glared directly into his gaze without as much as a little attempt at Occlumency. ‘One word,’ she thought warningly over and over again, gritting her teeth.  
  
His grin widened, not leaving his snakelike face for a second, while he handed her the necklace with the pendant that had his mark visibly inside. The one she wore to get into this bedroom. ‘Put it back on. We need to leave for some place a bit more spacious.’  
  
Confused, Hermione accepted it. Why would they need more room to practise Occlumency?   
  
‘I said we would continue practising; I didn’t say on what,’ Voldemort replied, while she put the necklace back on. ‘Though, I do remember stating you needed to keep your thoughts in check around known masters.’  
  
 _Yeah, yeah, she knew._  She could barely resist the eye-roll that felt as a very fitting gesture right about now, because really, any sane individual would have questioned the need for space; it wasn’t like the thought was a huge secret to keep.   
  
‘Then stop forcing me to repeat myself and act like you know,’ he replied to her first thought after his remark. ‘Follow me.’   
  
Abruptly, Lord Voldemort turned and paced to the door. A wave of black robes trailed his skinny form as if it could barely keep up.   
  
Hermione blinked.  _They weren’t Apparating, but walking?_  
  
Quickly, she took a few half-running steps to catch up with him at the door. Finally, she would see some more of her surroundings. He gestured her through and she walked into the corridor, looking around curiously. There was not much to be seen, just your typical long corridor lighted by shiny crystallized chandeliers. The same wood panelling as in her room decorated the wall, but here the wallpaper above was moss-green; although it did have the same square discolorations visible, positioned in mathematically correct intervals. On her right side, the corridor showed several doors and, at the end of it, another window. No doubt it was enchanted too, since she was certain she saw a peacock sitting on an extravagant copper fountain.   
  
 _Peacocks, okay; welcome to Balmoral, Miss Granger! Your High Tea with the Queen will be served at five-thirty p.m._  
  
Giggling, she turned to the other side where the corridor went on for about ten feet, before it abruptly ended in a thick black mist-like environment. Every now and then, vicious lightning strikes occurred inside it, causing black clouds to bellow and reform. She had a feeling it was not a sane idea to stick any body part you valued in there, mark or no mark.  
  
‘This way,’ Voldemort said, opening the second door on her right.   
  
Hermione walked towards him, glancing back over her shoulder at the violent mist. ‘What is that?’ she asked, frowning.  
  
‘Just a little something to make sure we’re not disturbed,’ Voldemort replied vaguely.  
  
‘That’s not an answer,’ Hermione retorted.  
  
‘Why, I had no idea you were that interested in the Arts,’ he said happily.   
  
Hermione glared at him. Unfortunately, it didn’t make the obnoxious smirk on his face disappear. On the contrary, it seemed to enhance said smirk. ‘Inside if you please,’ he said, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her into the chamber.  
  
Well, chamber. Chamber didn’t quite cut it as a descriptive term, Hermione decided. For the room was huge. It had about the same size and grandeur as the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Though it missed an enchanted ceiling, the ceiling it did have was situated a lot higher than her room and the corridor she just vacated. Enormous copper chandeliers lit the place. It was completely empty of furniture, making the candles sparkle their light in the mirrored walls undisturbed. It had a parquet floor, which in combination with the mirrored walls made her assume it once had to have functioned as a ballroom of sorts. From what little she had seen of this house, it had an aura of old age and posh vanity about it.  
  
‘I’ve noticed in your essay you are unaware of the most important and basic element of casting,’ said Voldemort, removing his hand from her back when they almost reached the centre of the room.   
  
While he stepped away from her and whipped out his wand, Hermione turned to face him with a puzzled expression. She clearly recalled all of Professor Flitwick’s classes on the subject, and she wasn’t aware she missed naming an element. What could he possibly mean?   
  
‘It’s imperative you learn to recognise it or everything else you do will be meaningless,’ he said, flourishing his wand around.   
  
A dash of red left its tip and charged around them. Hermione turned her head around, trying to follow the motion of the spell. It quickly formed a perfect copy of the existing chamber’s walls in red light. Another swoosh and a blue spell flew past her, in an almost exact duplicate of the first red one. It, too, formed a cubicle of light and expanded until it was about three feet away from the red box.   
  
Next, he jabbed his wand in a short motion directly at it. A forceful white jet raced past her; her clothes and free tufts of hair danced around her body, following the direction it charged to. She even could feel the gravity of the spell he cast inside herself. No wonder inanimate objects wanted to follow it. The white dash flew unhindered through the blue box, but impacted upon the red one without getting through. It bounced back. Hermione resisted the urge to duck, but it didn’t get past the blue confinement again. It started clashing between the two boxes violently, weaving a web of bright white light between them. Lord Voldemort turned to face her.   
  
However, Hermione was far too busy following his cast spell’s completion with her eyes. She didn’t see him smile when he noticed her keen interest. ‘Why are you placing bridges between two different character wards?’ she finally asked. ‘Isn’t that counterproductive?’  
  
‘Why would it be?’ he retorted.  
  
‘Well,’ she said, shrugging, ‘if they are connected and one goes down, it could take the other ward with it.’  
  
‘That’s the generally accepted theory on wards,’ Voldemort said calmly. ‘Can you explain exactly why the second ward would collapse when the first one goes down?’  
  
‘When a ward collapses, all its powers are set free into the air around it in a harmless manner due to the wide dispersion – except when there is a bridge. Then, the power will not travel at random. It will be attracted by said bridge and crash into the second ward with all the force of the first ward plus the added force of that which made it collapse in the first place. It’s what makes the attack on the second ward even more forceful than on the first one.’  
  
‘Correct; now look again at what is forming over there and tell me why that theory doesn’t apply here.’  
  
Hermione watched the white beams again, continuing to form more and more connections. It seemed like a spider web. Her mind raced, going over possible solutions. Furrowing her brow, she bit her lip. Why wouldn’t it apply? There were like a zillion bridges already. The power would still travel over the bridges and hit the other ward, whether it went through one or more connections.   
  
‘Both wards have opposing field polarities,’ Voldemort hinted. He’d conjured a luxurious armchair and sat down.   
  
Opposing field polarities? She watched the dash of white bounce back of the blue wall and hit the red when there was a bright flash. All beams lit up and pulled both wards to one another. The box turned purple. The unusual ward-colour was the only clue left that there were two wards instead of one in place. Wait a second.  
  
‘One way direction!’ she exclaimed. ‘Because of the different field polarities, those bridges are differently charged during formation. Only half of the bridges would transfer power from red to blue and the other half only transfers power from blue to red. Oi!’ Her head swivelled from the ward to Voldemort in surprise.  
  
‘Oi what?’ he stated, amused by her excitement.  
  
‘This means if the red ward goes, half the bridges would transfer its power to blue, which would then transfer the power back to red over the other connections,’ she said slowly. ‘It would reinstate the red ward to full power. No-no,’ she shook her head before he could speak. ‘It means the wards’ strength would increase, because it would have absorbed the power of the attack too.’ She stared at him, baffled. ‘The more power you feed them in your attack; the lesser are your chances of bringing them down.  
  
‘It’s what I find most convenient about this method of ward-creating,’ he said smugly.   
  
‘I bet,’ Hermione replied. ‘How do you take them down?’  
  
‘Now, now, you figure it out. Or do you want me to hand you all the answers to defeat me?’   
  
‘Sure, why not?’ she replied cheeky, grinning. ‘Waiting,’ she joked, tilting her head daringly.  
  
‘Don’t hold your breath while you do,’ he advised, shaking his head. A quick flick of his wand and a pedestal with a glass vase on top appeared in the distance. ‘Blow up the vase,’ he ordered, leaning back in his chair lazily.  
  
Baffled, Hermione looked at the vase. ‘Erm… okay,’ she said. Casually, she pointed her wand. ‘Expulso!’   
  
The vase blasted apart; glass shattered down on the pedestal and the floor nearby. Questioningly, her eyes darted to Lord Voldemort. Why was she blowing up a vase? It seemed pretty pointless to her, especially since the thing reassembled itself back in pristine condition a second later.   
  
‘Again,’ Voldemort said.   
  
After a couple of tries, Hermione began to feel rather silly blowing up a vase for no good reason at all. When Voldemort kept gesturing at her to continue, she scratched her neck with her wand. ‘Why am I blowing up a vase?’   
  
‘As I said before, your essay shows you were not taught about the most important element of casting; hence,’ he gestured toward the vase as if it was all the explanation she required.  
  
‘Expulso!’ Another bang; the vase cracked on the table and fell to pieces, but even before parts of it had reached the ground, they flew up and welded back together. ‘And this is helping me, how?’ asked Hermione, not getting the point at all.  
  
‘It won’t help if you’re not paying attention.’  
  
‘Attention to what?’  
  
‘What you’re doing,’ he said, nodding to the vase meaningfully.  
  
Quickly, she blew up the vase and turned back immediately to question him. To her surprise, Lord Voldemort had conjured a round side-table in the mean time. The door opened and a tray with a tea set and some magazines flew in, landing on the table. Hermione arched an eyebrow.   
  
‘It seems I’ll be here awhile,’ he explained mockingly. Demonstratively, he made himself extremely comfortable in his seat, waving his wand around to pour tea into a cup, while picking up a magazine.   
  
Suddenly, numerous other possibilities to consider blowing up came to mind – they were very, very, very satisfying possibilities. Irritated, she whipped her wand in the direction of the vase. ‘Expulso!’  
  
It blasted apart. A torrential rain of little glass pieces poured through the room violently. Her shield was up just in a nick of time.   
  
‘Perhaps not that long after all,’ Voldemort remarked from behind the article he was reading.   
  
Hermione noted his area had stayed completely clear of glass. How had he done that? He hadn’t conjured a shield or what. Oh, never mind. If he wasn’t telling her, why she had to blow up the damn vase, he sure wasn’t sharing that. ‘Expulso!’ she said carefully, not wanting to get showered in glass again.  
  
The vase cracked and almost didn’t fall apart.  
  
‘Then again, maybe I will,’ sounded dryly from the chair.   
  
‘What? Not violent enough for you? I suppose to you the basic element of casting would be violence.’  
  
‘Perhaps,’ he replied sniggering. ‘But the amount of violence is not the real focus here, though it is related,’ he added puzzling.  
  
‘Look if you have a point,’ Hermione said, holding her hands up exasperated, ‘I’d like to hear it.’  
  
Abruptly, Lord Voldemort flew to his feet. Hermione staggered a few steps back in shock at this sudden chance in temper, but he had a hold of her wand-arm before she knew it. He swirled her around in his arms and pulled her back against him with the arm he, swiftly, wrapped around her waist. ‘Now,’ he hissed above her, causing her to stiffen in fear. ‘If for but a moment you would have paid attention to what you were doing, Hermione, like Lord Voldemort so graciously told you to do, but instead you decided to concentrate on that useless babbling of yours, then you might have already noticed what it is you need to learn.’   
  
She flinched at the venom in his tone of voice, but even more due to the bruising grip he had on the wrist of her wand-arm.  
  
‘Now, cast the damn charm and pay attention,’ he ordered, raising her arm.  
  
She took a deep breath before she spoke. Her voice trembled too much and the charm failed to accomplish its task. She closed her eyes; pretty sure she was bound to be on the receiving end of a not so legal curse now, but he merely said, ‘Good; do it again and observe what’s happening.’  
  
She swallowed and spoke, more firmly now, ‘Expulso!’  
  
The vase blasted apart, glass debris flew around the pedestal.   
  
‘Did you notice the significant difference between this one and the one where you failed to blow it up?’  
  
Hermione frowned. She still had no idea what he was getting at. ‘I don’t-’  
  
‘Try again.’   
  
‘Expulso?’ she said questioningly.   
  
The vase cracked, but didn’t fall to pieces.   
  
‘Now then?’   
  
Oh Godric, see, this was exactly why she hated practical surprise examinations. It was like that stupid Boggart all over again. If she hadn’t had enough time to study the theory to its every minute detail and practised said theory in reality till she was blue in the face, it was like every bit of knowledge completely left her mind and she drew an utter and whole blank on even the simplest of questions. And she was certain this wasn’t the simplest of questions at all. She was never going to get it. She just knew she’d fail. She was so useless.  
  
‘Granger, try to breathe, will you?’ sounded a lot calmer above her.   
  
Lord Voldemort released his strong hold of her wrist and placed his hand on the arm he had wrapped around her waist. He sighed, leaning his head back. Really, this personality flaw of hers needed correcting before it would drive him up the wall. The problem he faced with these kinds of baseless insecurities was that they were easy to trigger, but almost impossible to extinguish. How was he going to get it into her thick head that Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be spending all this bleeding time on a Mudblood if she was truly as useless as she at times considered herself to be?   
  
His mind went over all the possible solutions to determine which strategy to deploy. It had been a very long time ago, since he had to use his considerable charm and manipulative skills into getting people to do what he wanted them to. Nowadays, he had quicker methods.   
  
 _Yeah, that’s one._  
  
Though he might be out of practise, he’d never lost the capability to be disgustingly understanding and considerate and do all those necessary things he had to in order for people to see everything his way, which was the only right way naturally. No, it had been a considerable while since he last played the part of Tom Riddle. He tightened his arms around her waist, hugging her to him briefly.   
  
‘Okay,’ he said soothingly. ‘Now that you’ve calmed down a bit, let me say this once.’   
  
Slowly, he turned the distressed girl around in his arms. Merlin, how much he hated emotional people. Fortunately, she had the good sense not to start weeping. He absolutely abhorred the sound – he’d given those who had the audacity to torment his eardrums with it something to really weep about. He took a deep breath and made sure he had her full attention before he continued his smooth speech.  
  
‘You are not useless, stupid, slow, or unable to come up with a solution at a moment’s notice. The alterations you already made in your essay in the little time I gave you are an absolute proof this is a faulty vision you have of yourself. The clown statue you threw between the Auror and me is a sure sign that you can perform under pressure, and not just when it’s on paper but also in practise. You are doing fine as long as you don’t think someone is evaluating your movements, because then you freak out, Hermione. It’s your fear of failure that is not doing you any favours. Fear and the panic this fear invokes are what’s paralysing you from acting. Fear is stopping your ability to learn and process the information. Fear is what’s keeping you from achieving greatness. Well, see that vase over there?’  
  
Hermione nodded timidly.  
  
‘It’s not going to care whether you need to blow it up once or a dozen times.’  
  
She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.  _Sure, it was the vase’s fault now – it had been very vocal after all._  
  
He sniggered. She did bounce back quickly from her panic attack. ‘Very well, Lord Voldemort apologises for teasing you with the tea and the reading.’  
  
‘How ’bout those impatient remarks?’   
  
‘Don’t push it, Granger,’ he spoke warningly.  
  
She grinned.   
  
‘I only made those remarks, because I know you’re intelligent enough to make the connection quickly,’ he added seriously.  
  
She looked down. A brief flash of doubt went through her eyes, but he spotted it.  
  
‘Yes, Hermione,’ he emphasised, lifting her chin with his hand. ‘You are smart. I don’t waste my time teaching idiots this.’ He grinned when he realised it. ‘I have never taught anyone this. You are the first candidate I’ve seen on that Council who’s not such a huge dolt to believe McMullen is right. The theory you came up with on your own, though in need of work, is the only way of achieving the termination of an already cast spell. A mind such as yours is a terrible thing to waste. It’s why I gave you so little to go on. You will connect the dots yourself and when you do, it’s something that stays with you forever. When you get told the answer, it’s easier for details to slip later on.’  
  
‘I don’t let details slip which are told to me,’ Hermione retorted, folding her arms over each other.   
  
‘Now she gets cocky,’ he said ironically, like it was way past due for it to happen.   
  
‘That’s not cocky, it’s true. I recall every letter of every book I’ve ever read. I can even tell you what is written on which page. I remember exactly which professor said what during which lesson. Professor Snape, for instance, said in our first lesson the following exactly, “For your information, Potter, asphodel-” (she continued quoting in a perfect mimic of Severus Snape’s speech) “-they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”’ she ended, nodding her head shortly as to say “there, told you so”.  
  
‘You have a photographic mind?’  
  
She nodded, more serious this time.   
  
‘Convenient.’  
  
‘Very.’   
  
‘Perfect.’ He twirled her around by her shoulders, so she faced the vase again. ‘Then use that skill on observing the difference inside of you when you cast the Blasting Charm at various levels of power.’  
  
 _The difference inside of her? That was all? He’d made such a big hullabaloo about that? Drama Queen._  
  
However, it was incredibly hard to pay attention to how you feel inside and still be able to concentrate enough to perform a charm. A lot of sparks came out of her wand; but to her utter frustration, a Blasting Charm wasn’t among them. This frustration began to heighten when she felt the tremble of stifled laughter travelling through his body in the hands on her shoulders. ‘Enjoying yourself?’  
  
He snorted. ‘Very much.’  
  
She placed her hands in her sides, and sighed.  _The length and depth of his remorse were so tremendously immense; you’d be quicker in spotting the proverbial needle._  
  
‘Why don’t I do the casting, while you pay attention to how it feels?’ he suggested. He whipped out his wand and did the same as he did at the school’s playground. He pushed both wands in her hand and wrapped his fingers through hers.   
  
‘Erm…,’ Hermione mumbled doubtfully.  
  
‘Oh, so you did pay attention to what happened back then, and here I was, thinking I’d done all that for nothing. But don’t worry,’ he sniggered, wrapping his arm around her waist, ‘I’ll be gentle this time.’ And before she had time to respond. ‘Expulso!’  
  
It felt like someone tugged on a small elastic band inside her chest as the charm left their combined wands. The vase blasted apart into a million pieces, and those pieces scattered to the ground within a five feet radius of the pedestal. A little while later, the pieces reassembled and the vase became whole again.  
  
‘Now if I happen to be emotional,’ Voldemort explained, ‘like for instance say angry, it will feel more like this; Expulso!’  
  
Suddenly, the small elastic band had multiplied and its entire offspring was clinging to mummy, while being pulled out of her by a freight train. Shocked, she grabbed a hold of his arm, but she didn’t keel over this time. It wasn’t as draining as it had been then. The vase, on the other hand, completely obliterated. Glass debris smashed into the wards, proving their existence was merited. Hermione wondered again why nothing came within range of him. She looked at the pedestal, but no reformation was visibly starting.  
  
‘Did you feel the difference?’ he asked rather superfluously.  
  
‘No not really,’ she replied sarcastically.   
  
‘Oh in that case.’  
  
‘No, no!’ she shouted hastily. ‘I got it.’  
  
‘Sure?’ he teased, making swish and flick motions with the wands in their joined hands. ‘I’d be more than happy to demonstrate again.’   
  
‘There is no need for it. I get it. The most basic and important element of casting is the person performing it – his or hers emotions are a cause of differentiation in the outcome of the performance.’  
  
‘Indeed. You and everything about you – not just emotions, but also physical condition, concentration, level of skill, intelligence, power, believe in oneself, and so on – is what defines the control you are able to have over your casting.’  
  
‘So, this is why the same individual can cast the same spell twice with various results,’ Hermione said, thinking of Neville. She’d been wondering about his erratic performances for quite some time now.  
  
‘Yes, it’s the most often overlooked factor in spell-casting.’  
  
‘Because it is so obvious,’ Hermione added. ‘You don’t stop and think about it. When something is not working as it should, you take a look at the charm, the outcome of it, the way you spoke the words or moved your wrist and wand, but you don’t evaluate yourself. That you take for granted.’  
  
‘Exactly,’ he said approvingly, kissing her on the top of her head. ‘Now, before we even begin to evaluate and practise your casting skills in all its foundations, we really need to rehearse your Occlumency against Stage One Legilimency. I want to start with Stage Two tomorrow, so I’d better see some progress,’ he threatened, while twirling her around to face him.  
  
 _Gee, very encouraging._  
  
‘Granger,’ he warned.  
  
 _Fine. One, two, three._  
  
Hermione felt certain she was never going to be able to look at a single number in a normal fashion ever again.   
  
-


	13. Chapter 13

**  
  
Chapter Thirteen**  
  
She was five, making her mother scream, because the stuffed toys she was playing with moved around by themselves. … She was twelve, lying to Professor McGonagall about the troll incident to get Harry and Ron of the hook. … She was fourteen, throwing the gold chain of the Time-Turner around Harry’s neck. … She was fifteen, peeking fearfully through her fingers as Harry avoided the blazing fire of the dragon again.   
  
‘I know! I know!’ she shouted, panting, knowing she failed miserably for the zillionth time already.   
  
She was on all fours again. It felt like someone had used a sledgehammer to crack her skull open in order to gain easy access to her memories. The pounding pain made her groan and she clutched her hands to her head, moving to sit on her knees.   
  
‘You’re not trying hard enough,’ Voldemort said, tapping with his wand on his hand.  
  
‘I am trying,’ she said, disgruntled.  _Really, who was he to complain, sitting on his arse in a comfortable chair?_  
  
‘You are trying?’ he sneered, getting to his feet. ‘Then how come I keep seeing all these wonderful memories, Granger? You did not even use your wand once to defend yourself. What did we discuss about defence to Stage Two Legilimency?’ He halted in front of her and hissed, ‘I am waiting for an answer, Granger.’  
  
She swallowed, pulled her hands from her head, and looked up at his towering figure angrily. ‘That, besides from stopping the attack with a curse of your own, there are normally two, but in my case three methods to halt an attack with your mind,’ she spoke through gritted teeth.  
  
He squatted down. ‘Three – no four methods in total and you,’ he poked her in the shoulder with his wand, ‘are,’ another poke, ‘not producing any of them,’ a definite poke.  
  
‘Well, you try concentrating when your mind feels like it’s about to explode,’ Hermione hissed back.  
  
‘Your mind would not be feeling this way if you had kept me out,’ Voldemort said sibilantly.   
  
‘Oh, of course it is my entire fault; dear me, it wouldn’t do for Lord Voldemort to share some of the responsibility.’  
  
Before his hand was around her neck, she knew she’d crossed the line and overstepped her boundaries; but she just couldn’t care less. Her head hurt; she was exhausted; she failed again, which meant she’d be stuck her forever, and his attitude was pissing her off big time. ‘Come on then, strangle me,’ she dared him.  
  
His eyes flashed.  
  
She laughed.   
  
The fingers around her neck tightened, and she laughed louder and louder. It turned into a wild obnoxious cackle, taunting him. He squeezed, making her cough. Those brown eyes turned to him with a vengeful glint. ‘You can’t,’ she coughed gleefully, gasping for air. ‘You’re scared,’ cough, ‘of them.’ Another gasp, and then, she made chicken noises – really annoying chicken noises.   
  
Roughly, he threw her to the ground and swirled away. A few feet away, he turned, raised his wand-  
  
‘Let me guess,’ she hiccoughed, bathing in mirth. ‘Crucio,’ she guessed. An almost hysterical laughter left her lips, while she rolled over the floor, having fun at his expense, not noticing the wand in her hand flashed brightly.   
  
Lord Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, following the curse’s path with clear interest. His fury washed away instantaneously when the mirror above the dresser broke in a million pieces with a sharp  _pang_ , and then, crashed down, taking a piece of the wall with it. It struck the warded wall! A triumphant elation rushed through him upon witnessing the forceful impact Hermione’s Cruciatus Curse produced.   
  
Surprised, Hermione looked up from the noise; her face stained with the residue of tears, which had clearly streamed down her face during her laughing fit. ‘Oh,’ she mocked, ‘is the mirror to blame now?’   
  
A broad knowing smirk graced his eerie face. A successful performance of the Cruciatus needed a certain amount of darkness inside the caster. For one to get through  _His_  wards though… well, let’s say he was over the moon with joy.   
  
‘Perhaps, it was,’ he replied puzzling, not correcting her misinterpretation on who destroyed the mirror. ‘Let us continue. Prepare yourself,’ he warned, pointing his wand at her.   
  
She froze.   
  
‘Legilimens!’ he cast.   
  
A mist blurred her eyesight and dazed her mind. Flashes of memories stormed past, like a movie on fast-forward without true direction.  
  
She was twelve, solving Snape’s Potions’ puzzle so Harry could get the Philosopher’s Stone. … She was thirteen, ripping a page on Basilisks out of a library book; excited, she solved the mystery. … She was fourteen, stunning the large, fat beetle on the window-sill in the hospital wing before dumping it in a glass jar and getting the hell out of there with a very satisfied giggle.  
  
Again, the floor turned out to be her best companion. She lay on her side, curled in a foetal position; out of breath, her hands once again clutched to her pounding head, and she knew for certain she hadn’t been responsible for the damn spell’s end. This time she hadn’t even been ready for its casting; she’d expected an unstoppable Cruciatus hit.   
  
‘What was that bit with the beetle?’ asked Voldemort curiously.   
  
He’d moved around to face her, while she tried to get to a seated position and controlled her breathing back to normal. Quickly, Hermione lowered her eyes. ‘Nothing,’ she said, thinking rapidly. He lifted her chin.  _Damn, one, two, three. Rita was her secret. Four, five, six._    
  
‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said. ‘Finally some progress, for I couldn’t quite get that. However, your defences at Stage Two are still naught, and since it is the most common form of Legilimency to be used...’ he trailed off, thinking. ‘What defence did you choose to try this time?’   
  
Hermione bit her lip. She hadn’t been trying any.   
  
He groaned. ‘Granger.’  
  
‘I was expecting something else to hit me,’ she said softly, blinking with her eyes to get them to focus. ‘Why is the world spinning?’  
  
Lord Voldemort tilted his head. ‘Perhaps you need a break; we will-’  
  
‘No, no!’ she yelled. She needed to learn this. She’d go insane if she was cooped up in this ugly pink room forever. ‘No please, I can do this. I have to do this.’  
  
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. ‘You’re of no use to anyone if your mind breaks, Hermione; we will continue to practise in an hour. Right now, you need to get some fluids inside of you, preferably isotonic, and some food.’  
  
‘But-but,’ she objected.  
  
‘We’ll discuss the theory again, while you’re eating and drinking. Perhaps we can clarify the cause behind your inability to exhibit even a mild form of Occlumency when with Stage One you did so well.’  
  
She grabbed the outstretched hand in front of her face and he drew her to her feet. Hermione staggered, grabbing a hold of the robe around his torso to stay standing. He stiffened, standing still like a wooden board, unused to people touching him out of their own volition.   
  
‘Oops, it’s worse than I thought,’ Hermione muttered, leaning with her forehead against his chest. ‘I guess you’re right. I do need a break.’   
  
She took a deep breath and straightened out. Carefully, she let go of him, checked to see if she remained standing, and then, walked to the table and chairs cautiously. This whole Occlumency thing so did not agree with her. By Merlin, she could still hear herself lecture Harry.  _“Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.”_  
  
You’re just going to have to work a bit harder… She groaned. Like it was nothing, no biggy, just work a bit harder. Oh man, she owed Harry big time, like a new racing broomstick kind of big. Slowly, she sat down in the chair and looked up to see Voldemort still standing in the same spot.  
  
‘I thought this wasn’t supposed to hit me so hard?’ she questioned, ‘with my weird mind and all?’  
  
‘It isn’t,’ Voldemort replied softly, distracted. ‘These are mild symptoms compared to my other victims.’  
  
 _Mild? Mild! Okay, scratch the racing broom, she owed Harry a whole Quidditch stadium and his very own team._  
  
A cracking sound.   
  
Nebi, the Keepers’ messenger owl, apparated in. It held out its paw to Lord Voldemort. He glanced at the envelope,  _“Tom Riddle.”_  It didn’t do wonders for his temper, seeing the name accompanied with the overly familiar handwriting. He snatched the envelope from the paw and ripped it open.   
  
Disgruntled, the owl flew to Hermione, landed on her shoulder and rubbed its feathers against her cheek. ‘Alright, alright,’ she said laughing, ‘give me a moment.’ She picked a plate from the table and said, ‘Owltreats and a dead mouse.’   
  
Excited, Nebi hopped on her shoulder, flapping its wings in anticipation, while Hermione placed the plate on the floor. A second later, a very happy owl snacked away.   
  
Meanwhile “Tom Riddle” read his letter.   
  
 _Dear Tom,  
  
Miss Granger is expected at the Weasley residence four days from now. Considering these arrangements were made some time ago and the need to keep Miss Granger’s candidacy as well as the Council of Fourteen a secret, I am positive you will acknowledge the necessity for her to maintain this previously set engagement. I’ve taken the proper security measures for her transfer to me at the Keepers’ location in Leeds, Yorkshire at 11:09 a.m. Please confirm meeting point, time and date.   
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Albus Dumbledore._  
  
A fine tremble ran visible through him, as Lord Voldemort tried to keep his temper in check. His hand wrinkled the parchment in his hand, while he closed his fist around it. Albus Dumbledore, always Albus Dumbledore. Whenever he ran into a complication on his quest for power, those irritating twinkling blue eyes were behind it. He had to get rid of the man; somehow, he had to find a method of really eliminating this constant pain in his arse. Preferably sooner than later, but at least before the expected takeover of the ministry he had planned for next summer.   
  
Breathing heavily, he jabbed his wand at the broken mirror. It flew up in the air and mended itself back to perfection. Another flick of his wrist and the wall repaired itself, the nails screwed back in, and the mirror hovered into place with a click, as the iron wire on its back made contact with the steel nails. Almost in a trancelike state, he slowly turned around, his eyes falling on the girl in question. Hermione observed him with a cautious expression. She sat very still, tense. He had less than four days to teach her Occlumency against Stage Two and Three. It wasn’t impossible, he was an excellent teacher after all; but still… it wouldn’t be enough if the old coot pulled out all the stops.   
  
‘Reread the theory,’ he ordered coldly. ‘I have something to take care of first.’   
  
Abruptly, he apparated away.   
  
Hermione and Nebi looked at each other. ‘Professor Dumbledore?’ she asked, amused.  
  
Nebi let out a long hoot in confirmation before the small Tengmalm owl disappeared too, having finished his lunch. Snorting, Hermione picked up another plate to get something to eat for herself.   
  
\---  
  
Lord Voldemort didn’t return that afternoon. She’d reread the bits on Occlumency and had started on her essay once more, feeling a bit restless. Later in the evening, she rewarded herself with a nice, long, hot, calming shower. As she got out the bathroom in her dark-blue bathrobe, twisting a towel around her wet hair, she saw she had company; plural. Lord Voldemort she met before, but not the other one. He was an old man in seemingly bad condition, frail-appearing, skeletal thin, long messy grey hair and deep sunken eyes. A mocking laugh left his lips when he saw her.   
  
‘You are so full of it, Tom,’ the man snarled, exposing Hermione’s parents’ worst nightmare - an almost toothless mouth. ‘No way, no way.’  
  
‘Still, you will prove my claims to be correct,’ Voldemort said coldly, folding his arms over each other.  
  
‘Alright, hand me your wand,’ the man she didn’t recognise barked, stretching out his left hand to Voldemort demandingly.   
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. What, the man got away with that? No crucios now?   
  
‘In your dreams,’ the Dark Lord mocked, snorting.  
  
‘If I need to verify your ridiculous statement that this Mudblood has the skill to compartmentalise her mind to such a degree, then you’re going to have to.’  
  
‘You can do without,’ Voldemort replied shortly.  
  
‘No, in order to check for the signature signs, I need to be precise and for that I need a wand.’  
  
‘You’re not getting it, Gellert, so move along.’  
  
‘Fine, then hand me hers,’ Gellert said, holding out his hand to Voldemort once more. When nothing arrived in it, Gellert turned around. ‘Look, you asked me here. It’s not my problem Albus won’t believe a single word that comes out of your smooth lying mouth.’  
  
‘Ask her,’ Voldemort said, nodding his head in Hermione’s direction.  
  
Gellert’s jaw dropped. His head swivelled back and forth between Hermione and Lord Voldemort in sheer confusion.   
  
‘You’re letting her have a wand while you’re away?’ Gellert hissed disbelievingly to an unruffled Dark Lord, who merely smirked condescendingly back. ‘Are you insane? How many times do I need to tell you to watch out for Albus and his schemin-’ He took a deep breath and raised his hands to the air. ‘Oh, why do I even bother?’ He shook his head and turned to Hermione, barking, ‘Give me your wand.’  
  
However, it didn’t sound like a sane suggestion to Hermione either. Not to mention that she felt it lacked a certain amount of etiquette to demand someone’s wand without even introducing yourself first. She saw Lord Voldemort’s lip quirk when she made no move to hand anything at all. Worried, her eyes darted between the two; Lord Voldemort and Gellert Something. Considering the man’s age, his attitude, and his wonderful original name-calling, she had a pretty good idea that Something should be replaced by Grindelwald. Nobody else called their child Gellert ever since he’d been around.   
  
Wonderful, this was just wonderful; she really needed to have a long meaningful chat with fate. Because wasn’t having to deal with one of them enough? She had to get two for the price of one?  
  
And even more so, shouldn’t Grindelwald be in Nurmengard? Well, he did need someone else’s wand; prisoners didn’t get to keep their wands. Did Voldemort bust him out of jail?   
  
 _Nah, he wouldn’t want the competition._  
  
Perhaps he was a Keeper too? Just how many dark wizards were in that Council? No, hold it; stop right there; there was no need to get an answer to that question immediately; she really didn’t want to try her luck with fate any further. It was bound to help her find out in a most horrendous manner.  
  
‘Look here, girlie, I don’t have all day. It’s been awhile since I last checked the number of bricks on my walls, so … hand it over,’ Gellert ordered, gesturing at her with his hand.  
  
Questioningly, her eyes fell on Lord Voldemort. He nodded his head in the direction of Grindelwald, wordlessly ordering her what to do. Hermione sighed and pulled her wand out of her bathrobe’s pocket. As she held it out to Gellert, she couldn’t help but notice from the corner of her eye that Lord Voldemort had drawn his wand, while keeping a considerable distance between himself and the other man. Not to mention that his posture and stance had gained an alertness she had not seen in him before, not even during his duel with the Aurors at the playground. It didn’t make her feel much better about what she was about to do.   
  
But Gellert took her wand before she could withdraw her hand. He weighed it and rolled it in his hand before making his wrist swish and flick in practise. ‘Vine wood with a dragon heartstring core,’ he spoke underneath his breath. ‘Feisty. A bit too flexible to my taste, but it will have to do. Incendio!’ he cast at the flowery bed-draperies.   
  
In a crackling noise, they burst into flames, leaving nothing behind but ashes on the ground. Remarkably, the four posts were still intact. Gellert smirked, satisfied. ‘Horrible curtains,’ he commented. ‘They had it coming.’  
  
‘You missed the chandelier coverings,’ Hermione noted dryly.   
  
It was taken care of in no time.   
  
‘If you’re done redecorating,’ Voldemort trailed off, sounding somewhat annoyed.   
  
‘Not really,’ Gellert said, looking around, shivering in an exaggerated fashion. ‘But with this place it would take me forever to finish. My advice, burn it down to the ground and start over,’ he told Voldemort before turning toward Hermione. ‘Now, let’s see whether or not you’re capable of doing what he says you are.’   
  
Involuntarily, she took a step back when her own bloody wand got pointed at her.   
  
‘No Stage Two or Three Legilimency, Gellert,’ Voldemort said warningly. ‘Or I will have to make sure my apprentice doesn’t die by killing you.’  
  
Gellert’s head swivelled back in surprise. ‘Isn’t that interpreting our rules a wee bit too broad? Brain death is not the same as actual death. I doubt the charter will allow you to kill a fellow Keeper to prevent it.’  
  
‘Wanna take your chances?’ Voldemort said, smirking. ‘Be my guest. Personally, I believe I have a very strong case claiming brain death is actual death. Since I have a duty to protect my apprentice from such a horrible fate, I guarantee you that if I notice one move that resembles any Legilimency attack on your end, I will find out just how far my options to fulfil that duty reach. Either way, you - my friend - will have to decide whether or not you want to take the risk of dying. I do recall the story of Peverell protecting his apprentice from one of the other Keepers successfully under similar circumstances.’  
  
Gellert growled and turned back to Hermione, frowning. ‘Fine, no direct form of Legilimency. But if I need to use Stage One, there is only one way to determine it quickly.’ He whipped her wand. ‘Crucio!’ Gellert cast.  
  
Once again, it felt like white-hot knives were being pushed into ever inch of her skin. She screamed, while collapsing to the ground. She clutched to her stomach, which suddenly felt like it was being ripped apart.   
  
 _Terrific, sure Granger, just hand your wand over to the nearest dark wizard – nothing bad will happen, promise._  
  
Overhearing the sarcastic comment, Gellert giggled, while she thrashed and writhed on the floor. The towel around her hair dropped. Her bathrobe twisted around her legs, its cord turned perilously loose.   
  
‘That’s quite enough, Gellert,’ Voldemort’s voice spoke calmly, barely to be heard over her loud, agonising screams.   
  
 _Yeah, she couldn’t concur more. Gosh, she needed shipping to St. Mungo’s already; she agreed with Lord Voldemort. No cookie today._  
  
‘Gellert,’ Voldemort warned a bit louder. ‘You heard the girl; you have your answer.’ He raised his wand at the other wizard.  
  
Gellert dropped his head and sighed, lowering the wand in his hand. ‘It seems I need the practise; I am obviously too rusty with curses like this.’  
  
 _Oh, you poor baby._  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, pulled her bathrobe back around herself and tied it together with shaking hands, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Fortunately, none of the wizards present even remotely acknowledged her temporarily semi-nakedness.   
  
‘And?’ Voldemort asked.  
  
‘Fine, fine,’ Gellert said, sounding slightly put-off. ‘I’ll talk to Albus.’ Gellert pocketed the wand, turned, walked to Voldemort and whispered, ‘But this is all the more proof to the truth of my statement that you need to stop jerking around with this girl. Stop before you put her in the vacant seat on the bloody Council. We already are stuck with three of Albus’s protégés; there is no need to add to our collection.’  
  
Voldemort smirked knowingly. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, Gellert.’  
  
‘Which means you disagree with me. Bah!’ Gellert let out a disparaging bark and walked to the exit. ‘I’ll warn Albus he can’t use the full force of his Legilimency on the Mudblood, but you need to start growing a brain.’   
  
‘Gellert?’ Voldemort said sweetly.  
  
‘What?’ Gellert snapped, turning around – door in hand.  
  
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Voldemort taunted.   
  
The door flew from Grindelwald’s hand and rammed shut. A light flashed behind Gellert; a clear indication that an additional ward had just bumped in place. Next, Voldemort had his wand pointed straight at the man. Gellert glowered in his direction; his stance turned alert.   
  
Hermione figured now would be a good time to be elsewhere, and she quietly scattered back on her butt, until she reached the desk and could go no farther. She hopped sideways to get behind the more solid looking bed. If push came to shove, she could always roll underneath it. Though frankly, the moon wasn’t far enough away to her satisfaction if these two started duelling.  
  
For a second, Grindelwald seemed to consider his options; but when Voldemort made a small move with his wrist, Gellert held up his hand in surrender. After all, the wand was not his; it was firmly pocketed, while the other wizard had his already pointed; and he was very out of practise in the duelling arena. Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn’t the person to start with. ‘Hold your horses,’ Gellert grumbled.   
  
His left hand fiddled through his pocket and he pulled out Hermione’s wand. ‘Oh well,’ he shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’   
  
He tossed the wand to Hermione, who sat behind the bed now and peeked just over the rim. ‘Just two little words,’ Gellert advised her as she rose somewhat and caught it. ‘It’s pronounced Ke-daaah-vra, not Ked-avraaah; and afterwards, we will all thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I guarantee you it will work. From what I saw you’re powerful enough to produce that curse to its full extend.’   
  
‘Are you done?’ Voldemort asked, amused. His wand flourished, removing the added wards he had set in place.  
  
‘Now I am,’ Gellert said cheerfully, swirling out. ‘Wait till his back is turned!’ Hermione heard him shout from the corridor right before the wards kicked back in place and the door closed.  
  
It became very quiet in the room, a prolonged uncomfortable silence.  
  
‘Well,’ Voldemort said, breaking the silence in an even tone of voice, ‘at least you have the good sense to find cover. Finally something I don’t have to teach you.’  
  
He walked toward her, and casually, flicked his wrist; the towel flew in his other hand. Hermione used the bed to get to her feet, and as she straightened out, Voldemort held out the towel to her. For a split-second, she looked at it, surprised; but then, she accepted it. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, whipping the towel a few times to clear it from dust particles before twisting it around her head again.   
  
‘You’re welcome,’ Voldemort said, and then, ‘I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for such a dreadful hair occurrence again.’ He snickered.  
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘Funny,’ she finally muttered, shaking her head.  
  
‘Now it seems that we have only limited time to teach you Occlumency against at least Stage Two. Gellert will make sure we don’t have to worry about Dumbledore trying a Stage Three attack or an extended Stage Two on you, but he still will check your mind with a mild version of it when you go to the Weasley in three days, which means-’  
  
Hermione didn’t hear the rest of it. She was going to the Weasleys in three days? As in she wasn’t going to stay here forever? Yay!  
  
‘Granger.’  
  
Oh thank Rowena, she would see Ron and his parents and Ginny and Fred and George again, and would Harry be there already? But what about her assignment? She wasn’t finished by a long shot. And she still needed-  
  
Someone grabbed a hold of her shoulder and shook her. ‘Granger!’   
  
Hermione’s head swivelled up. ‘Sorry, I was thinking.’  
  
‘If I am not satisfied with your Occlumency skills three days from now, Dumbledore will be waiting for you in that factory for nothing. I don’t care how many Keepers I upset by holding you here; frankly, I’d call it an added bonus. Is that clear, Hermione?’ he threatened.  
  
She grimaced. ‘Well, since I suck at it,’ she trailed off.   
  
‘Yes, about that, I figured we may have been going about it the wrong way. You know what the defences entail, but you might understand better how they work if you see them in action once. Take out your wand,’ he ordered, stepping away.   
  
Crap, she’d already showered to get ready for bed. If she’d known she was in for another fun round of attacks on her mind, she wouldn’t have bothered with the useless endeavour of showering. She reached into her bathrobe and pulled out her wand. Voldemort gestured at her to move away from the bed and more to the centre of the room where he was standing. When she was a few feet away from him, he halted her with his hand.   
  
‘Okay,’ he started. ‘Now when you cast the Legilimency spell you need to make sure to keep eye contact with me; once the spell is cast, it’s a matter of focusing your mind on mine continuously in order to see. It takes great concentration to hold on when another’s memories start bombarding your mind. A bit of wavering on your end and I will easily block or cast you out.’ He halted seeing the look on her face. ‘Something the matter, Granger?’  
  
‘You want me,’ she said, slapping with her hand on her chest in clear disbelief, ‘to use Legilimency on you?’ she questioned, looking at him as if the world had turned upside down.  
  
‘Ah, glad you catch on so quickly,’ he said lightly.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Erm, but-but...’   
  
Somehow this didn’t sound like a safe and sane plan to her. No, this was definitely going to bite her in the arse.  
  
‘But what?’ he said, smirking as if he already knew why she wasn’t jumping up and down at the opportunity to get even.   
  
She threw her hands in the air. ‘Well, I think one crucio a day is more than enough, thank you very much.’  
  
He grinned, gave her a shallow bow and said, ‘you have Lord Voldemort’s word that there will be no retribution for any memories you may come in contact with.’  
  
‘U-huh,’ Hermione mumbled reluctantly, and not buying.  
  
‘Besides, this is your first shot at Legilimency and I have years of practise at occluding my mind. You will see only what I wish to share. So, remember the right incantation is Leee-giliii-mens. Repeat it, please.’  
  
‘Leee-giliii-mens,’ Hermione repeated perfectly.   
  
‘Good, remember to keep eye contact at first, concentrate and stay focused on the memories. Try to make sense of what you see first. I’ll give you access and we’ll practise every one of the blocking strategies later.’  
  
Hermione raised her wand, wavering away with her eyes.   
  
‘A little more steady and sure of yourself, please,’ Voldemort said. ‘Concentrate and focus.’  
  
She took a deep breath, made eye contact, concentrated, flicked her wrist and cast, ‘Legilimens!’  
  
A funnel formed in front of her eyes, pulling her in. Images chased past, flashes so short she couldn’t see.   
  
‘Concentrate Hermione,’ she heard his voice in the back of her mind. ‘Focus on just one image that passes.’  
  
Focus on one image? But they raced by so quickly, she couldn’t tell what they were about. How could you focus on them? Was that Hogwarts?  
  
She blinked, more images flew by. Hogwarts! It was something she could recognise. She needed to see something of Hogwarts. She focused on finding those in the blur that passed.  
  
He was eleven, sitting on a stool with a dusty old hat hanging over his eyes, having a completely meaningless yet lengthy discussion on the relevance, or as he saw it irrelevance, of the three Houses he wasn’t interested in at all. … He was twelve, sneaking into the Restricted Section to search for information on the Chamber of Secrets. … He was fourteen, swindling some Potions ingredients from Slughorn to be able to brew something highly illegal. … He was seventeen, opening the Chamber of Secrets.   
  
Hermione staggered back. Voldemort had cast a Shield Charm to push her out. It was not a pleasant experience. For a brief moment, her memory got targeted by her rebound spell and he got a few recent glimpses back.   
  
She was sixteen, flying on a bloody invisible animal utterly terrified. … She was sixteen, casting the Protean Charm on the coins. … She was sixteen, jinxing the DA-parchment so anyone who dared to betray her would be in for a nasty surprise. … She was fifteen, smart-mouthing Professor Umbridge as she’d read the entire book already. … She was fifteen, standing in some obscure hellhole being questioned by strangers about a parchment she poked a hole in.  
  
‘Protego!’ Hermione cast.   
  
Lord Voldemort swirled out of its way, making sure the spell wouldn’t rebound on him again. The memory train died instantaneously. Panting, Hermione took the support of the desk behind her and leaned against it. This was really unfair. Even as the caster she’d become the bloody victim of this spell.   
  
‘Much better,’ Lord Voldemort said appraisingly. ‘Just one example and you copy the defence perfectly. Let’s do this again.’  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, shook her head to clear it, and stepped forward.   
  
‘I’ll let you in again, and then, I’ll show you the first mental defence where you clear your mind of thoughts, feelings and emotions; making them a blind wall to the other if you will. This is the most commonly known Occlumency method, and I think it’s the most insane one to choose, because you have to be an automaton to succeed in it for a long duration of time. Are you ready?’  
  
Hermione nodded.   
  
‘Go,’ Voldemort ordered.  
  
She whipped her wand at him again. ‘Legilimens!’  
  
It took her awhile to make something out of the mumbo jumbo of images, but Hogwarts turned out to be a fine point to focus on.   
  
He was thirteen, duelling with one of his moronic classmates in clear boredom while Professor Galatea Merrythought made notes about their accomplishments. … He was fifteen, three people at a dinner table looked up in utter surprise at seeing him standing there; his wand flashed green. … He was sixteen, talking to Professor Slughorn after having given him a can of crystallized pineapple!   
  
Now that was not something he was willing to share. Shocked, he threw up every barrier he had in place immediately. His mind turned blank; his emotions cleared; Hermione met nothing but a blind brick wall. Her spell bounced off of it.  
  
She was seven being teased by a bunch of bullies who pulled on her hair; a moment later they were all gone, permanently. … She was twelve, running to the bathroom after overhearing Ron tell Harry nobody liked her. … She was fourteen, having a panic attack about all the homework she still had to do; the Time-Turner around her neck twirled. … She was fifteen, feeling very invisible when Ron discussed with Harry which pretty girl to ask out to the Yule Ball. … She was fifteen, kissing Viktor in an abandoned corridor…   
  
 _Yikes! Hell no, she was not sharing that._  
  
‘Protego!’ Hermione cast. With all the emotions the visuals triggered, she had no idea how on earth to create that blind wall Voldemort just threw up.   
  
‘Good,’ he said, rather unexpected; and while she recovered, he explained. ‘You didn’t try the impossible “I will clear my head of all thoughts, feelings, and emotions”, but you resorted straight to your best means of defence. You need to know about all the defences possible, but I don’t think this one is suited for you. Now the next defence I am going to show is mixing the memories with each other, taking bits and pieces of one and putting them in another, as well as using memories of stories other people told you, or events happening to others you witnessed, and even plain fantasy events you stored in your mind to make one big incomprehensible mess of it to the attacker.   
  
You will see this is the most effective means of defence against a Stage Two Legilimency attack for two reasons. One, it is almost impossible for the attacker to make sense of what he sees and only you will know whether it is real or not. Two, you can fool the attacker into believing you're not occluding him at all, especially if it is someone with little knowledge of your life, so they may give up their attack thinking you're telling the truth.   
  
This defence is also not demanding you to become a robot and show no emotions, but you have to keep in mind that if you feel distressed, you need to show a fake visual which would corroborate with that emotion. If the spell bounces back at you, I want you to try it out too; alright? No more Shield Charms then, just mix and match your memories.  
  
Hermione nodded.   
  
‘Okay, let’s do this again,’ Voldemort said, gesturing her to step forward.   
  
Hermione noticed somewhat annoyed that he seemed totally unfazed by the two attacks on his mind, while she was already feeling a bit feverish and she hadn’t even taken the full blow of it. She gritted her teeth, focused once more, stared into his eyes and cast the spell.   
  
This time she was much faster. She had no idea why, but she saw a little boy and caught the visual.   
  
He was nine, laughing as the swing Mary was on picked up speed, going higher and higher, until it swirled over the bar and she crashed to the ground. … He was nine, talking Dennis and Amy into an incredibly terrifying and dangerous climb down of a high cliff. … He was nine, standing in line with a bowl trembling in his hand, while asking, “Please, sir, I want some more.”   
  
Hermione frowned.  _He didn’t just use what she thought he did?_  
  
He was still nine, walking to London talking to his latest friend Jack Dawkins, who tells him about an old gentleman named Fagin who will help him.  
  
Hermione’s frown deepened, while she added a scowl to her features.  _Merlin, he had._  
  
He was eleven, getting sorted into Gryffindor. … He was thirteen, hugging his favourite teacher Albus Dumbledore. … He was seventeen, saving Myrtle’s life by making the Basilisk turn at the right moment.  
  
Hermione yelled in frustration, lowering her wand.   
  
Loud laughter rolled of the walls, as Lord Voldemort had his little fun. ‘As you can see,’ he hiccoughed, ‘this defence is the most annoying one of all to deal with.’ He continued laughing. ‘Think you can manage it, Granger?’   
  
‘According to some, I should have no problem in being aggravating,’ she snarled, irritated by his continued snickering. It really wasn’t that funny. She bit her lip. Well, perhaps him hugging Albus Dumbledore… She started giggling. ‘So, Gryffindor, eh?’ she teased. ‘I should have known. It fits with your eyes.’   
  
‘Indeed,’ he replied, smirking. ‘So what’s it going to be for you?’ He raised his wand.  
  
‘Eh, give me a second,’ she objected, frantically searching her mind for something equally annoying to show him.  
  
‘Time,’ Voldemort said, and he cast, ‘Legilimens!’  
  
She was eleven, walking nervously to Professor McGonagall… the visual blurred and McGonagall disappeared. She sat on the stool and a much younger Professor Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on her head. …   
  
Voldemort frowned.  _Had she just nicked his memory?_  
  
She was thirteen, duelling a blond boy, feeling insanely bored, while Professor Merrythought made notes.  
  
Voldemort scowled.  _Yes, the little witch was using his memories against him._  
  
She was seventeen, opening the Chamber of Secrets.  
  
 _She isn’t even seventeen yet nor is she a Parselmouth. Ugh, this was more disturbing than he could imagine._  
  
She was fourteen, swindling Slughorn into parting with some Potions ingredients.  
  
‘Enough!’ he yelled, lowering his wand.   
  
It was Hermione’s turn to laugh out loud and she did it exuberantly. At some point, Voldemort interrupted her. ‘Well as bothersome as it may have been, this was your first successful Occlumency attempt against Stage Two Legilimency. I feel it is a most convenient moment to call it a night. We’ll continue this first thing in the morning.’  
  
‘O-O-Okay,’ Hermione hiccoughed.   
  
She sat down on the bed, still enjoying her ploy when Voldemort had long apparated away.   
  
\---  
  
‘Granger, wake up.’  
  
Someone shook her. She wished he would go harass someone else. She slept so nice. The bed was so soft. Hermione moaned and turned around. Cold water poured on her with the strength and quantity of a waterfall. The violent stream lifted her up. She yelped as she flooded out of bed, got thrown through the room and crashed into the dresser on the opposite wall – elbow first. ‘AH!’   
  
Lying on the floor, looking like a drowned cat, she rubbed her arm with a painful expression, while the water drained away from the room. Lord Voldemort halted above her, looking down with a wicked smile. ‘I don’t like to repeat myself,’ he said, whipping his wand around.   
  
Her scrolls, books and other writing equipment, she had left on the desk, were airborne. He grabbed her bag from the dresser and opened it. A flick of his wand and all her stuff flew in there. He pulled out a Hogwarts’ robe and let it fall on top of her. ‘Put it on, now, we need to leave.’   
  
Hermione scrambled to her feet and wanted to move to the bathroom. But he grabbed her arm, flicked his wand around, and the robe flew over her head – straight over the long, now soaking wet shirt she’d slept in. She was dressed, though it hardly felt like it. Her robe began to stick to her wet shirt. His wand flashed, and every Hogwarts’ label on it vanished, making it a simple plain black witch’s robe.   
  
‘Where is your wand?’ asked Voldemort, dumping a pair of shoes on the floor in front of her.   
  
‘Erm…’ Hermione questioned, looking around the bedroom, while stepping into her shoes.  _Well, her wand had been under her pillow, until someone found it necessary to turn her bed into a waterslide._  
  
‘Accio wand!’   
  
Voldemort caught it and pressed it into her hand immediately. A Hot-Air Charm flew around her next, drying her. He tapped his wand on her head. It felt like an egg dripping down over your head, but as she faced the mirror she saw how her features changed dramatically.   
  
Suddenly, her hair was long, smooth and incredibly black. Her eyes turned grey; her skin colour paled; the bone-structure of her face altered; she wouldn’t have recognised herself in the mirror – let alone another person would. But she didn’t have time to study her new looks, because he pressed her beaded bag in her hands, dumped the necklace with his mark around her neck, grabbed her arm, and paced to the door.   
  
‘Stay close to me at all times,’ he barked. ‘Don’t say a word, not to anyone, unless I tell you to. And keep your posture straight, your hands on your back, because you have quite telling mannerisms and Severus is there.’  
  
‘What – Professor Snape?’ Hermione blurted out, worried.   
  
Where were they going? Lord Voldemort whipped his wand around as they walked into the corridor. The violent black mist disappeared. The wards around her room dropped. Paintings flew past and positioned themselves back on the wall, but she didn’t have time to investigate their contents, because he yanked her on her arm and dragged her down with him. She had to half-run to keep up.  
  
‘Did you hear what I just said to you?’ Voldemort asked shortly.  
  
‘Yes, stay close, keep my mouth shut and don’t be me,’ Hermione repeated quickly, and immediately disproved her not being Hermione by asking, ‘But why am-?’   
  
Her question cut short when the whole house vibrated. ‘That’s quick,’ Voldemort said, looking up, while moving down the stairs with Hermione in tow. ‘They are attempting to take the Malfoy wards down, Narcissa,’ he called out.   
  
They’d reached the hallway. To Hermione’s utter shock, it was crowded with what she assumed were Death Eaters. She recognised only a three of them, Severus Snape and both Malfoys. Narcissa was flourishing her wand above her head. Voldemort halted, grabbed Hermione by both shoulders, and positioned her next to a door. ‘Stay right here,’ he ordered.  
  
She held her bag in her clasped hands behind her back, remembering to keep her posture steady, straight, and non-Hermione-ishy. Although what she’d rather be doing right this instance was make herself scarce and invisible.   
  
Yeah, invisible and elsewhere sounded great, especially when she saw Bellatrix Lestrange swaying around the group with an excited, hopeful expression on her face. The woman stretched out her hands, holding to her wand above her head, dancing around on her toes almost dreamily; happy about the possibility of a fight, maybe even a kill or a wonderful torture.   
  
Yeah, being elsewhere would be so much better.  
  
-


	14. Chapter 14

**  
  
Chapter Fourteen**  
  
Narcissa flourished her wand around. Lord Voldemort looked up; Hermione followed his line of sight but saw only an elaborate decorated ceiling. ‘The outer wards around the fence are crumbling, Narcissa,’ Voldemort observed.   
  
‘I know,’ she responded out of breath, still casting.   
  
‘I have removed all evidence of my presence here,’ Voldemort replied coldly. ‘But if we have to apparate out, their wards will acknowledge exactly who was here – I noticed one of them has an identifying signature. I need you to give us more time.’  
  
‘I am resetting the second line of defence on the inside of the fence,’ Narcissa replied hastily. ‘But these wards are ancient, they won’t hold forever. Draco get the mirror; we need to know who precisely is out there, so we can determine what to do about it.’  
  
Draco stepped next to his mother and raised his wand. A flash. The silver-embossed ornate hallway mirror blurred. Clouds formed on it until the air cleared, and the mirror showed who was standing outside the Malfoy gates. Hermione held her breath when she saw the slightly balding Arthur Weasley, gesturing to two male Aurors to get a move on. Ron’s dad was here? Would he even know  _who_  was in this house right now? Did he have enough reinforcements with him? What if he died?   
  
‘Weasley,’ Draco sneered. ‘He’ll never get in. He wouldn’t know how proper entrances to a real house work.’  
  
‘Don’t be a fool, Draco,’ Snape sneered, yanking the boy back by his collar, so he was no longer in the immediate vicinity of Lord Voldemort. Severus positioned his body between the two smoothly. ‘Arthur didn’t arrive alone; he brought Aurors, and they will take you and your mother to Azkaban if they find what you got hidden down there.’  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow and smirked. This was priceless. Draco Malfoy got snapped at by Professor Snape. Where was a recording device when you needed one desperately?  
  
‘They are here for some meaningless Dark Arts trinkets?’ Voldemort said, looking at Snape sharply.  
  
Snape turned to the Dark Lord, nodded solemnly and started talking.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione and a disgruntled Draco, who had moved back a few feet to get away from Snape, made eye contact. Hermione just couldn’t resist smirking even harder, especially when she saw the realisation flash through Draco’s eyes about who precisely was standing in his family’s hallway. Draco scowled. He was about to speak up and expose her when Voldemort interrupted Snape’s explanation in an icy tone of voice. ‘Not a word, Mr Malfoy, or you will wish you had never been born.’  
  
Draco paled and quickly closed his mouth. Hermione was even more amused. Snape’s dark eyes swiftly darted between them before focusing back on Lord Voldemort.   
  
‘My Lord, as I informed you yesterday Arthur Weasley made Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects,’ Snape spoke silkily. ‘It seems his dislike for Lucius has rendered him very inspired to locate those objects, which we were able to keep hidden from the ministry before.’   
  
‘Arthur knows about our hiding place?’ asked Narcissa, concerned, lowering her wand when she finished putting the wards on the inside of the fence in place.  
  
‘I overheard him talking to former Auror Moody at the Order Meeting,’ Snape replied, turning his head to Narcissa. ‘He said someone told him the Malfoys had a secret hideaway underneath the floor of the parlour. He didn’t say who though.’   
  
‘Oh no,’ Narcissa said, clasping her hand in front of her mouth. It was exactly where the place was hidden.   
  
‘So these Aurors are really here, because of some silly old feud?’ Voldemort said quietly.   
  
Snape nodded.   
  
‘Merlin, Lucius is even a nuisance when he is locked up in Azkaban,’ hissed the Dark Lord.   
  
Draco’s face darkened, and if looks could kill, Snape would have dropped dead on the floor right away.   
  
Meanwhile, Bella tapped with her wand against the persons on the mirror. ‘Eeny … meeny … miny … moo,’ she cackled madly. ‘Yes, let’s kill them all,’ she suggested, ending her game by pricking her wand at Arthur’s face. ‘Ooohhh, poor Mollywobbles,’ she mocked, ‘it seems all those babies will have to do without daddy.’  
  
Hermione’s wand burned in her pocket. That bitch was the first to go. She might not be able to bring Sirius back, but damn it all the way to hell, she was not going to stand by and watch Ron lose his dad. As Grindelwald had said, they were only two little words and Lestrange already had her back turned, so…   
  
Lord Voldemort suddenly blocked her line of sight, damn. For a second, his red eyes glanced in her direction warningly before he turned to Bella. ‘We don’t have time to play games right now, Bella,’ he said, like he was speaking to an infant.   
  
Bella turned around and pouted. ‘But I want to play.’  
  
An echoing crash accompanied the fall of the outer ward.   
  
‘Oh goody!’ Bella cheered, jumping up and down.  
  
‘Restrain yourself, Bella, or I will do it for you,’ Voldemort said quietly.   
  
The woman’s posture collapsed; all joy vacated her body, and she bit her nails, nervously and very disappointed.  
  
‘So, they know there is a secret entrance in the parlour,’ Voldemort said, turning away from Bella like she didn’t exist and focussing his attention back on Severus. ‘Well, I guess we have to make sure it won’t be there when they enter.’ He swirled around, brandishing his wand.  
  
Narcissa held out her hand in shock. ‘Master, I haven’t deactivated the wards inside!’ she yelled in panic.  
  
But it was too late. Voldemort’s magic followed his body’s graceful, almost languorous turns; his wand flowed in circles; and with a thundering noise, the Malfoy wards crashed upon him as he spread his arms wide. ‘Oh yes,’ he said with a moan, tilting his head back – happy to receive all that power.   
  
He stood there motionless for what seemed like an eternity, as a dark cloud partially obscured his body. Nobody in the hallway dared to move. Only Narcissa peeked nervously at her outside wards to check whether the noise stayed contained indoors; but she needn’t worry, he had it covered. Lord Voldemort’s arms made a quick gesture, almost like he was pulling everything he could find inside of him. The cloud was no longer visible. His head snapped back up, his eyes opened.   
  
‘Wonderful,’ he muttered, before making a fluent motion with his wand in the air around him, as if he could taste it. ‘Really wonderful.’   
  
Then, he jabbed his wand at the parlour door. A lightning bolt charged away from the tip of his wand, clashing into the door and electrifying the walls. Hermione took a step away from the wall as sparks burst out of it to return back to the tip of the Dark Lord’s wand, no matter who or what was in the way. It was an aesthetic sight to witness, as he moved around receiving all that power back in a flowing motion. Until he whipped his wand above his head, and all of the sudden, she was standing at ground zero of a magical blast of magnificent proportions.   
  
Her hair flew around her face; her clothes rustled violently; she could barely stay standing as the full force of his charm charged the very air around her. She felt it breezing through her, caressing, titillating her every nerves’ endings, and touching her in the most intimate of places. The power was overwhelming; she swayed on her heels but managed to stay upright, though only just.  
  
Bella had her arms spread wide and was dancing in circles, bathing in it, laughing in clear rapture and delight. Snape stood still like a stone statue, unmoving, his arms folded in front of him, his face expressionless; his long waving black robes the only thing about him which gave of an indication of life at all. Shaking, Draco had squatted on the floor, taking cover underneath a half-round hall-table, which stood against the far wall. Narcissa stood in front of it, having made an attempt to conjure a shield to protect her and her son, but it had been ripped to shreds instantaneously. She collapsed against the table, grabbing a hold of the wood to not fall down. Several others had. In fact as Hermione looked around, she saw that the only four still standing without support were Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape and … well, she.   
  
For a moment, Snape’s dark intense stare fell on her. He didn’t have his wand in his hand, but Hermione wasn’t chancing it. She quickly looked elsewhere. He had broken into Harry’s mind relatively easily. She had no idea if he could perform Stage One Legilimency, but was sure he wouldn’t be able to do it without eye contact. His eyes narrowed for a split-second upon her obvious avoidance, but then, his expression was blank again. You have to be an “automaton” to perform Occlumency for long durations of time, Hermione remembered Voldemort saying. It was a rather unflattering statement for her Potions Professor.   
  
The walls started shaking. Draco yelped and crawled away from it. Hermione turned her head to check all around her. They were moving; the walls were moving. When she noticed she unknowingly had moved her hands in front of her, she quickly clasped them behind her back again and made sure she stood up straight. Her beaded bag bounced against her legs; it was rather irritating. But Snape was already showing an interest in her. She didn’t need to give him actual clues. So she stayed still.   
  
The floor began trembling also. Bella jumped up and down, cheering. Lord Voldemort stood still; his wand pointed at the floor; his eyes closed; he was the embodiment of concentration – the epitome of skill and power. Grudgingly, Hermione had to admit it was quite something to witness.   
  
‘Magnificent, isn’t he?’   
  
Hermione jumped when Bella whispered in her ear. She hadn’t been paying attention and the woman had, somehow, used the limited space behind her back to sneak up on her. Crap.   
  
‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,’ Bella said smoothly, wrapping her arms around Hermione and drawing her body flushed against hers.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Voldemort had told her not to say anything, but she doubted Lestrange would take kindly to being ignored. ‘Oh, such pretty hair,’ Bella said, taking a strand of Hermione’s between her fingers and holding it out. ‘He likes the colour black, you know.’  
  
Snape’s eyes darted from Lord Voldemort to the scene in front of him. His posture gained an almost invisible tension.   
  
‘Yes,’ Bella continued in a low tone of voice. She twirled Hermione’s hair around her fingers, studying it. ‘He really does-’  
  
Abruptly, Hermione grabbed the witch’s wrist and turned her head, ignoring the tension the movement put on the tuft of her hair in Bella’s hand. She put every bit of loathing, hatred and disgust she felt for the witch, responsible for Sirius’s death, in her eyes and just looked back at her intensely, warningly, telling her without words she was a dead woman if she didn’t back off now.   
  
Glaring back in wicked amusement, Bella leaned in – inches away from her face. ‘Ooh,’ she whispered, giggling softly. ‘Feisty too.’   
  
She yanked out the hairs she had wrapped around her hand with a satisfied glint in her hollow, dark eyes. Hermione flinched, but her eyes didn’t leave Bella’s and she didn’t make a sound. Her jaw set, she gritted her teeth in order to keep control of herself – to not do something that would blow up in her face tremendously. Surely, Voldemort should be done any second now.  
  
‘And not unable to stand a bit of pain. You’re just perfect, aren’t you?’ Bella spat, fury flashing through her features.  
  
Alright, she was going for her wand if this got any worse. Alas, it would require her to let go of Bella’s wrist and casting would require speech. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place.  _Was he never going to be finished with that spell?_  
  
Bella took the hair she’d just pulled out Hermione in her free hand and caressed her own face with it. She traced the strand past her nose, tauntingly. ‘You smell nice too.’  
  
 _How was she going to get this insane bitch to leave her the hell alone?_  
  
Bella twisted her wrist in Hermione’s hand, and next, she had both of hers locked violently.   
  
Crap, she should have gone for her wand, while it was still an option. Too bad Voldemort had added an Anti-Grav Charm to her beaded bag, which made it incredibly light; otherwise she could have swung it around on the bitch’s head. It would have been all over for Bella then.   
  
‘Bella, let go of her now,’ Snape hissed, stalking forward hastily. ‘I don’t think the Dark Lo–’  
  
A wave of magic flooded past. Snape froze; his hand inches away from grabbing Hermione’s arm, he lowered it quickly when Lord Voldemort looked up. His red eyes immediately fell on Bella, who backed away instantaneously, holding up her hands in a gesture of innocence, until she noticed the incriminating black tuft between her fingers. ‘Just a bit of girl-talk,’ Bella said, hiding her hands behind her head quickly. ‘No harm, no foul.’  
  
‘We will …  _“discuss”_  this later, Bella,’ Voldemort said coldly. ‘Draco, let the nice Aurors in, will you?’   
  
Draco walked to the front door, somewhat reluctantly. He had been enjoying the show very much.   
  
‘Get a move on boy,’ Voldemort hissed.   
  
Draco ran.   
  
‘My Lord, what now?’ Narcissa asked, not understanding.   
  
‘We will retire to the dungeons, Narcissa,’ he looked over his shoulder, and satisfied, Draco had exited fully, he continued, ‘which are now located underneath your drawing room.’  
  
Several snorts came out of different Death Eaters. Snape smirked. One of the unidentified males said, ‘I hope they have fun searching underneath the floor of the parlour.’  
  
Bella cackled softly.  
  
‘Lead the way, Bella,’ Voldemort ordered.   
  
On cue, the woman paced past Hermione, pulling out her wand. ‘Don’t disappoint me again,’ Voldemort added evenly.   
  
Bella glanced over her shoulder apprehensively. The four men Hermione didn’t know quickly followed Lestrange. ‘Severus, are you staying with Narcissa or coming?’ asked Voldemort, watching the Potions Master quietly.  
  
‘I think it would be hard to explain to Arthur why I am here now,’ Severus said silkily.  
  
‘Follow Bella then.’  
  
‘Thank you, Master,’ Snape said humbly; but when he turned, his sharp eyes glanced down at Hermione briefly.   
  
She didn’t like it one little bit. She watched the back of her teacher as he stalked away, and she noted she wasn’t the only one in doing so. Was Snape on to her? He couldn’t be. She’d not been Hermione at all. She was sure of it. Hermione would have mouthed off Bella. Yeah, she definitely would have. She still wanted to. Big time.  
  
‘Are you alright?’   
  
Lord Voldemort stood right in front of her, looking down. Surprised, Hermione nodded in response. Narcissa was still here after all.   
  
He cupped her face and leaned toward her ear. ‘You did very well, Hermione,’ he whispered.  
  
His breath sent a shiver down her spine. His hand stroked through her hair. He was far too close. His magic thrummed against her, invading her privacy, heating up her skin. It brought back some very embarrassing memories of a certain nightmare. Her heart picked up speed as she remembered the feel of his hands on her body, the touch of his lips on her skin, and the sensation of having him inside of her. She suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, standing in an almost intimate embrace with the Dark Lord, even though only one of his hands touched her hair.   
  
Ugh, this was all Bella’s fault. She’d put thoughts in her head, which were ridiculous to begin with. The man was thrice, no, four times her age; he didn’t look at her in such a way. She was a child to him.   
  
She swayed a little in the force of his presence. She clenched her fist, driving nails into her skin, doing everything she could not to jump him, to prevent herself from making an absolute fool of herself by plastering her body against his. Why did she suddenly want to jump him? Damn, his magic felt different; it called to her, attracted her much worse than before. She’d been very capable of ignoring it easily up until now. Why was it worse? Why did it have to get worse? Merlin, she needed to get a grip before he would pick up this particular memory.   
  
‘She won’t bother you again when I am done with her,’ Voldemort spoke softly, his breath danced over her skin.  
  
She closed her eyes to the sensation; her entire body tensed. No, no, no, this was not happening. She needed to step back now. Yes, just take a step back. It was simple; just move your feet one at the time. Come on, Hermione, move, damn it.   
  
She took a deep breath; the muscles on her leg contracted and she moved back, straight into his hand. Her eyes flashed open in shock when she felt the contact on her back. But Lord Voldemort looked in Narcissa’s direction, straightening up, not acknowledging her existence apart from the possessive hand on her back. Yes, possessive, ownership. That was what it felt like.   
  
Oh shit, she was getting nuts. Maybe Bella’s condition was contagious? One second of contact with the woman, and she was making things up which weren’t there. She needed to stop seeing things which weren’t there. Logical, she had to approach this logical, as she’d been able to do the whole time she’d been in his presence. Just bury the memory, dig a deep hole, shove it in there and dump tons and tons of soil on top of it. She done it before, she could do it again. Sure, she could.   
  
It was no problem, just get your breathing and heartbeat back under control, Granger, and stop blushing like a stupid teenager. Use your head. Blasted Lestrange. Lots and lots of soil on top of it.   
  
‘We’ll better go, too,’ Voldemort spoke casually to Narcissa, glancing at the front door. ‘It would be a shame of all that hard work if we are found standing here when Draco returns with Weasley.’ His hand slid a little more to Hermione’s side, and he guided her to the drawing room. ‘Narcissa,’ he nodded politely in passing.  
  
‘My Lord,’ Narcissa said, bowing her head, not nearly as foolish as her sister to make a remark of any kind to what she’d just witnessed.   
  
They passed the trapdoor quickly. Voldemort turned and slashed his wand at it. Not only did it cause the trapdoor to close, but the floor above them turned into solid concrete; impenetrable, unyielding and preventing detection.   
  
‘Fourth door on your right,’ he ordered, gesturing at her to walk along before turning his attention back on the ceiling above them. His wand flashed and he began securing their environment against discovery with invisible wards.   
  
Hermione frowned. Hesitating, she walked away. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea for her to be on her own with Death Eaters again. Though, to put some distance between her and that man was also a very preferable option to consider. When you have two bad choices, which one do you pick?   
  
 _The least embarrassing one!_  Her steps picked up speed and determination. She’d get as much space as she possibly could between him and her, even if it meant fraternising with his insipid followers.  
  
‘I won’t be long,’ sounded behind her back.  
  
 _Yeah right. So not helpful._  
  
She didn’t look back. So she never saw the wicked glint, which danced through his eyes, or the satisfied smirk, which was quickly becoming quite irremovable, as he considered how well everything went his way. Bella certainly was useful at times; though if she’d known how useful, the pureblood witch would probably eat her own wand in frustration. He grinned, flashing his wand again. He could take the next step with Hermione before sending her back to the Order now. He wouldn’t have to wait for her return. This little Auror disturbance surely paid off for him. It was such a timesaver. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.  
  
For a second, he wondered if Dumbledore would notice when he saw Hermione again. A high-pitched laugh rolled through the dungeons. To see the look on that man’s face when he realised… It would be worth something. He’d give up half of his followers to witness that. Hell, they could have them all. There were always others to take their vacant places. Watching Dumbledore’s world fall apart, however, was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He snickered. It was like winning the lottery. Such a high.   
  
\---  
  
‘I am sure we’re going to get sued, because Tonks just had to knock over one of their priceless family vases.’  
  
Laughter all around. Remus shook his head.  
  
‘Eh,’ Tonks shrugged in a fake apologetic gesture. ‘I am clumsy like that.’ She grinned. ‘Though alas, it didn’t draw out the lovely family member I hoped it would.’  
  
‘We weren’t there to draw out anyone,’ Arthur reprimanded, though with a smile on his face. ‘We were there to give Sev-’  
  
The door to Molly’s kitchen flew open and crashed into the cupboard next to it. The early morning sunlight behind his back highlighted his dark and gloom posture, while his black robes swayed around his frame.  
  
‘Ah Severus!’ Arthur joyfully called out. ‘We were just discussing your situation. Did our little ploy help yourrrr,’ his voice died out upon seeing the absolute murderous look in Snape’s face.   
  
Moody shifted in his seat, his wand-hand ready for a quick draw. Soothingly, Kingsley put his hand on the man’s arm. Remus raised an eyebrow. The entire kitchen turned silent as Severus stalked around the table; his hands clenched in fists; his entire body trembled from the effort it took him not to lash out, as he approached the Headmaster. Slowly, Dumbledore rose from his chair, frowning concerned. ‘Severus, why don’t we take this up in the other-’  
  
‘No, I think we will discuss this right here,’ snarled Snape. ‘I have had it up to here with all the secrecy. You can only go so far, Albus,’ he spat out the name. ‘You can only push people for so long, before they start pushing back and no longer want to take your lead.’  
  
‘Severus, you need to calm down, this is not a subject for everyone’s ears.’  
  
Severus snorted. ‘Like your hand isn’t?’ He leaned forward and spoke softly in the man’s face, ‘If you want to risk your life by not getting assistance straight away when deadly curses hit you, that’s your choice; but I most certainly won’t stand by and watch you risk another’s life, especially one that’s not even off age yet.’  
  
Dumbledore sighed.   
  
‘Something bad is going to happen to Harry?’ Molly asked, taking a few steps toward them, concerned. Her tea sloshed over the rim of the cup she held tightly. ‘I know you plan to pick him up in three days from his aunt and uncle,’ she added, looking at Dumbledore. ‘Did You-Know-Who find out?’ Her eyes darted between Snape and Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head reassuringly. ‘Harry’s travels are secure, Molly.’  
  
‘No, Potter is safe for now,’ Snape added evenly. ‘It’s his friends I am more concerned about at the moment.’  
  
Molly’s eyes widened.   
  
‘Severus,’ Dumbledore said warningly, holding up his hand. He placed it on Snape’s forearm and tried to move the man with him. ‘Not here.’  
  
The Potions Master merely looked at the hand on his arm. ‘Why is Hermione Jean Granger at the Dark Lord’s Headquarters?’ he spoke quietly, not moving even an inch.   
  
Severus’s words slowly sank home inside every Order Member present, and silence fell upon the kitchen.  
  
A crash broke it. Molly had dropped the cup in her hand. Her hands at her mouth, she looked absolutely horrified. Remus had half-risen from his seat, his wand in his hand ready to leave straight away, while the rest of his body language clearly indicated he didn’t want what he just heard to be true.   
  
‘AH!’ Kingsley shouted out, enlightened. His hand waved to Tonks. ‘She is the one who kicked you in the butt that day. I knew there was something familiar about that girl. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.’ He seemed almost relieved to have solved the mystery.   
  
Tonks just stood there, unresponsive, disbelieving.  
  
Arthur put his arm around Molly protectively. ‘Surely you must be mistaken Severus?’ he asked hopefully, his eyes darting between Dumbledore who stood there contemplatively and Snape who was still furious.   
  
‘I have taught that little obnoxious Know-It-All for five years, Arthur, she has a quite … distinctive irritating attitude,’ he turned his attention back to Dumbledore. ‘And you know she is there. You told me not to dig into the matter of the unknown girl back then, to leave it be. You’ve known all along she was there, didn’t you? Why is Granger there, Albus? How come you know about it? And why are we not doing anything about it?’   
  
‘Does Lord Voldemort know you’ve recognised her, Severus?’   
  
Molly gasped and several people turned pale when Dumbledore corroborated Severus’s claims with his question.   
  
‘What?!’ Snape snapped. ‘That’s the question you’re asking me? Why don’t you answer mine and I am sure everyone else’s?’  
  
Dumbledore plucked at his beard thoughtfully. ‘He must have. This is a problem.’  
  
‘A problem? A problem! I don’t call Hermione Granger following the Dark Lord around a problem, Albus. It’s a disaster. I swear if he hadn’t been hovering all over her, I would have grabbed the little witch and apparated us both out; but I never got the right window of opportunity.’  
  
‘It wouldn’t have helped her, Severus. She’d have to go back anyway and your cover would be blown,’ Albus said, shocking everyone even further. ‘You can’t act upon this information, Severus; he will be waiting for you to do so and…’  
  
‘Albus,’ Remus interrupted. ‘I am with Severus on this; if Hermione is there, then we need to go rescue her.’  
  
Several murmurs of agreement followed.   
  
‘Why is she even there?’ Tonks asked, confused. ‘I mean the way you’re talking about it makes it sound like she is there willingly, which is ridiculous. Besides, why would he tolerate a Muggle-born’s presence at all?’   
  
‘She is close to Harry,’ Remus answered. ‘It’s got to be what’s interesting to him.’  
  
‘Yeah, for him, but why for her?’ Tonks said, throwing her hands in the air. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’  
  
Everyone looked at Albus for the answer.   
  
He shook his head. ‘It’s not something I am at liberty to share,’ he said.  
  
The uproar was of spectacular proportions. ‘Not at liberty to share.’   
  
‘We have to do something. We have to go get her out.’  
  
‘I can’t believe this is happening. I thought she was home with her parents.’  
  
‘Do you think they know? They must be so scared.’   
  
‘They are still alive, aren’t they? Did anyone check? If he kidnapped Hermione, then…’  
  
‘Following him around as in she has joined You-Know-Who? What a load of crap.’  
  
Kingsley rose from his chair. ‘Albus,’ his voice boomed, silencing the lot. ‘On behalf of the Auror Department, I have to say I am afraid you’re going to have to explain it.’  
  
Silently, Moody leaned back in his chair, his magical eye twirling between Snape, Dumbledore and now Kingsley Shacklebolt. His wand was drawn a long time ago, but he hid it magnificently in his wide sleeves.   
  
Dumbledore nodded, making Shacklebolt and several others sit down in anticipation of the explanation. ‘You’re right; it seems I have no choice but-’ Albus said, whipping his wand out with the speed of light.   
  
Moody dropped his chair to the floor and rolled under the table, a silvery shield following him around like a bubble. The others never stood a chance. Dumbledore’s curse froze every single one of them.   
  
‘Alastor?’ Dumbledore asked, moving back slowly – his wand raised. A silvery shield followed him, too, as he moved around behind the immobile frozen people.  
  
‘Albus,’ Alastor replied courteously, his wand at the ready.   
  
‘We need to talk about this.’  
  
‘You’re not wiping my memory, Albus.’  
  
‘Of course not, my old friend,’ Dumbledore said reassuringly. ‘I would never do such a dreadful thing.’  
  
‘Save it for someone who’s buying,’ Moody growled distrustfully, scattering back quickly when he noticed Dumbledore moved to the other side of the table.   
  
‘You’re not as silent as you used to be when you move, Alastor.’  
  
‘Old age, wooden leg,’ Moody said, shrugging.   
  
‘We all have our disabilities to overcome,’ Albus concurred, flicking his injured wand-hand under the table.   
  
A gonglike sound vibrated. Moody swore and Molly’s sink took the hit; water sprayed around the kitchen. A dash of red sped toward Dumbledore; he swirled out of its path easily. Molly’s self-knitting jumper halted in mid-air. Its wool unravelled and landed on the floor in mere threads.   
  
‘Nasty hex, Alastor.’  
  
‘Yours too, Albus.’  
  
‘There is only one way for this to end,’ Dumbledore warned, circling the table farther.  
  
‘Uh-uh,’ Moody replied, taking cover behind a frozen Kingsley Shacklebolt. ‘Why don’t you drop your wand and surrender then?’   
  
Dumbledore grinned.  
  
Moody tapped Kingsley with his wand. Nothing happened. Surprised, he glanced at the tip of his wand. He shook it; sparks flew around. It was still working.   
  
‘It’s not your average day Freezing Charm, Alastor. He won’t wake for you,’ Dumbledore answered his unspoken question.   
  
Moody noted his voice sounded an awful lot closer, too close. His magical eye swirled, taking in the room in a 360 degree fashion. He had nowhere to hide. Quickly, he rolled into the open and whipped his wand at a stunned Albus, casting his infamous Incarceration Charm. He never expected it to work. Ropes twirled around the Headmaster and the man crashed to the ground fully immobilised. Moody’s jaw dropped. His wand and eyes firmly focused on Albus Dumbledore, he rose to his feet. He realised his mistake a second too late. ‘Merlin’s beard,’ he uttered, annoyed, just before he froze in position, immobile as the others too.  
  
‘Sorry, my friend,’ Albus said behind him, removing the Invisibility Charm of his body, ‘but it is imperative the Council’s existence remains a secret.’  
  
He quickly wiped everyone’s memory of Severus’s arrival and everything that happened after it, until he reached the last one, Severus Snape. He sighed, plucking his beard again. Tom had to know he recognised Hermione. He was too observant to miss something this big; and he had not wiped Severus’s memory of it, as was his Keeper’s responsibility. Dumbledore shook his head.   
  
Tom had deliberately squandered the charter to see whose side Severus was really on. The man knew he would have to act if Severus told him whom he had seen. The man also knew that if Severus told him, he couldn’t complain to the others about Tom’s lacking actions without giving up Severus’s true allegiance. And if he sent Severus back with an erased memory, Voldemort would know Severus had told him everything. It would mean the end for Severus. He was completely stuck if he couldn’t get Severus to see to reason.   
  
Frowning, he looked at the Potions Master. He took the man’s wand away, just to be on the safe side, raised his wand and unfroze Severus.   
  
‘You have two choices,’ he said calmly to his teacher, who looked around the room confused, while his hand tried to draw his wand fruitlessly. ‘I can put you in protective custody against Lord Voldemort, after I have erased your memory of Hermione’s presence there. Or you can go around your business as usual, keeping Hermione’s secret without ever knowing why she is there, and maybe you will even be in a position to assist her should she need it someday to concur the difficult path that lies ahead of her.’  
  
He stepped back, looking at Snape intently; ready to weigh the truthfulness of the man’s response to him.   
  
Too bad for Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape was a true Master of Occlumency.  
  
-


	15. Chapter 15

**  
  
Chapter Fifteen**  
  
The walls of solid rock trembled when Sharasvati Nathaira shut the door. It was dark and damp as most caves were, but she liked the gloom, the moist and the outrageous humidity. She loved to see people sweat at her feet. It was a sign of their inferiority to her. Real witches did not perspire; there was no need to if you could control the magic within. And she was all about control. She paced to the centre of the circular cave and whipped her wand around. Little lights sparkled on the walls, casting shadows at odd moments all around.   
  
She dumped her coat on the nearest of two large half-circular white couches, which stood opposite from each other forming a true circle. They could seat as many people at a time as was necessary. Though often, she was the only one sitting in it, while the rest grovelled at her feet on the floor. In the centre of the couches’ circle stood a low-rising table made of the same rock as the cave was from. Her wand had carved it out so many years ago. It was all the furniture and decoration she had. She never was one for the frivolous things in life. Magic was all you needed; magic and the right blood.  
  
‘Mistress, I-’ a bald, fat-bellied man spoke, grovelling on the stone ground as required.  
  
‘Leave,’ she barked furiously, while continuously slapping with her wand in her hand.   
  
The man’s eyes widened and he hurried away fearfully. He’d seen what happened when her temper was like that before and he had no desire to be on the receiving end of that stick.   
  
Nathaira paced the cave to and fro. Her long purple robes trailed her slim figure, exhibiting her aggravation by swaying abruptly with every turn of her body. She rubbed her hands through her short spiky dark-brown hair, frustrated. Nobody, nobody dared to challenge her! So, who did that little bitch apprentice think she is!? She growled, swearing she would get Li Mei back for this. Even if it was the last thing she’d ever do, she’d find a method to pay the blasted light Keeper back for handing her this infuriating apprentice. Never before, never before had she failed to show a light candidate the dark; NEVER! How dare that insane girl ignore its powers! How dare she ignore her! She was Isabella Sharasvati Nathaira; her ancestry could be traced back all the way to Isis; she was the greatest witch alive – nobody ignored her!   
  
‘What’s got your knickers all in a twist?’ Gellert asked, amused. He’d seated his frail body luxuriously in one of her white couches, his arms hanging over the backrest, his legs resting on the low table, ankles crossed, lounging comfortably – the prototype of laziness.   
  
Nathaira froze on the spot upon hearing the blasted voice. Unbelievable, the man was unbelievable – always appearing out of thin air when you least expected him. Not to mention that he never waited for an official invite, and whatever bloody ward she used, he just burst through it. It was most annoying, especially since she had no idea how he did it, and Nathaira always knew, always. However, right now, Gellert was not the source of her aggravation, but he might be of assistance in getting rid of it. She swirled around.   
  
‘That girl,’ Nathaira growled. ‘She is insane. Li Mei picked a candidate who is insane.’  
  
‘Oh my,’ Gellert said, bringing his hands to his chest in a mocking gesture. ‘Don’t tell me it finally happened?’ He laughed loudly. ‘The great Nathaira unable to destroy a light candidate. Stop the presses.’  
  
‘This isn’t funny,’ Nathaira hissed.   
  
‘Oh come on, Vati, it happens to all of us. Sometimes you just get a candidate that can’t be swayed by the dark. Big deal.’  
  
‘But it is a big deal, Gellert, it is.’  
  
‘You are taking this way too serious.’   
  
‘Am I? You tell me, Gellert. How is your candidate responding to Albus’s guidance?’ She snorted haughtily. ‘Don’t tell me you really think that insipid Malfoy boy is going to be able to resist his light path?’  
  
‘Do I look like I care?’ Gellert replied, shrugging, a small smile on his face.  
  
‘And then, there is Him,’ Sharasvati groaned. ‘He’s not going to fail with that Mudblood.’  
  
‘He’d better,’ Gellert mumbled, scratching his neck nervously.  
  
‘What was that?’  
  
‘Nothing – nothing.’  
  
Nathaira looked at him, curiously.   
  
‘So, this is an ego issue?’ Gellert asked, diverting the attention away. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart about his feelings concerning Albus’s candidate with this witch. ‘You want to beat Albus and Tom.’  
  
‘No, damn it, Gellert. I am supposed to guide her. You know the rules.’  
  
‘Then guide the girl, stop nagging to me she is not picking what you want her to.’  
  
‘You’re missing my point. I can’t guide her,’ Nathaira said, throwing her arms in the air in defeat. ‘She won’t take any guidance.’   
  
Gellert raised an eyebrow.   
  
‘I swear to you,’ Nathaira said desperately. She waved her wand at the couch and it moved to let her pass. ‘She is impossible. The blonde bitch is impossible. Li didn’t pick this moronic candidate to become a Keeper; she couldn’t have. No, she picked this candidate to drive me insane. I swear one more second with that girl and I am going to Avada myself.’ She plummeted in the couch opposite to Gellert’s.   
  
‘Eh, I know all about how infuriating some powerful light candidates can be. Remember, I had to guide two of Albus’s former protégés, Gunvald and Li Mei. They both drove me up the wall at times.’  
  
‘But you could guide them, couldn’t you?’ Sharasvati snarled, crossing her legs. ‘I may not like them, but they can think logically. This – this one,’ she raised her hands in surrender again. ‘Her brain is all twisted. It’s not wired correctly. She is not allowing me to do a thing.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’   
  
‘I mean she is literally not letting me guide her,’ replied Sharasvati, frustrated.  
  
Gellert frowned. ‘You’re supposed to guide her.’  
  
‘Really, you’re telling me?’ she mocked.  
  
‘If you don’t guide her, Sharasvati, you will be held in violation of-’  
  
‘Don’t you think I don’t know that!’ she yelled, jumping to her feet. ‘This is all a trap. Li set me up with this girl. That Chinese bitch set me up to die. There is no way Li can think this girl should become a Keeper. No way!’ Her hand clutched around her wand, turning her tanned knuckles whiter than a ghost on laundry day.  
  
‘I still don’t understand why you say this candidate couldn’t become a Keeper; she did excellent on the previous tasks, and if she is capable of driving you up the wall like that then...’  
  
‘Then what?’ she sneered, kicking the very heavy couch to the side.   
  
Gellert flinched.  
  
‘She must be really good?’ she finished his sentence mockingly, snorting loudly. ‘I have done everything –  _everything!_  – to guide that girl into choosing a path, into choosing her destination. Ha! She won’t pick. I started out as I always do; a few dark curses to target her body, mind and soul. Most light candidates are  _soooo_  afraid of their inner darkness; they bury it deeply so no one will see. Once you bring it out, they run home screaming for their mummy; but she ignored it! Ignored it like it was irrelevant!’ she huffed, disbelievingly.   
  
Gellert scratched his neck, wishing he hadn’t decided to check up on the third candidate’s progress on the day Nathaira had a mental breakdown. Her wand could be pretty darn damaging to the human body. However, on the other hand, seeing the mighty Nathaira fall was quite entertaining.  
  
‘So, I did the mind games,’ Nathaira rambled on. ‘And every logical mind out there would see the benefit there is to gain from embracing the power of all your magic. She didn’t care about the power the dark could grant her. She was too busy theorising Time should move backward to undo a cast spell. Time moving backward without a Time-Turner! And do you know how she thinks Time can move back? Do you, Gellert!’ she shouted.  
  
Gellert just stared at the furious witch, unresponsive. He thought the whole situation was quite comical. And he was beginning to hope that maybe, just maybe, Hermione Granger wouldn’t be the last one standing in the end.   
  
‘Well, there are these invisible creatures. I forgot the ridiculous name, but conveniently no one has ever heard of them,’ Nathaira sneered, her hands gesturing wildly to support her words. ‘Well, these beings will move Time for you if you perform the right ritual to get them to come out of hibernation in our closest parallel dimension. I swear she will drive me nuts with her illogical ideas.’  
  
‘Look,’ Gellert intervened calmly. ‘I know you always want to beat the light Keepers by dragging their chosen ones into dark magic or crushing their minds, but sometimes you can only guide your apprentice on the path he or she has already chosen. Sometimes they have matured enough to no longer be susceptible-’  
  
‘Matured?’ Nathaira mocked questioningly. ‘She is not mature; she is insane.’  
  
‘You keep saying that, Vati, but you’re not validating your statement with any facts. You really need to start guiding your apprentice as you’re supposed to – not as how you may want to. The Dream Sequence has been invented for a reason.’  
  
‘I did the Dream Sequence,’ Sharasvati said sweetly, approaching him slowly. ‘I followed the rules once I knew I had no other choice. Wanna know what happened, Gellert?’  
  
Gellert eyed the wand in the witch’s hand apprehensively. His memory about her capabilities was too clear not to take the threat seriously. Besides, his butt still ached from Voldemort’s bloody curse when he ended the duel at the Keepers’ meeting – Gellert felt he couldn’t use another lasting injury.  
  
‘Nothing,’ Sharasvati continued.  
  
‘Nothing?’ Gellert questioned, confused.  
  
‘Nothing,’ she repeated, satisfied he was finally getting her dilemma.   
  
‘How do you mean? Didn’t she follow your lead in the dream or didn’t the dream work?’   
  
‘Oh no, the charm worked. I was there; she was; both paths were available to her. I explained which one she should pick, but nothing.’  
  
‘I don’t get it. You say the Dream Charm worked fully, and then, she didn’t do what you want? Why do you care which path she picked? You know it doesn’t matter if they pick the light or the dark path. Both paths show either side and lead to the same destination – further knowledge of self.’  
  
‘She didn’t pick a path,’ Sharasvati answered, tapping with her foot, getting tired of repeating her words.  
  
‘You have to pick a path; it’s inherent to the charm,’ Gellert objected. ‘It doesn’t matter which one they pick; once they have chosen, they learn.’  
  
‘Well, she didn’t pick either path,’ Sharasvati repeated again, folding her arms over each other, irritated.  
  
‘Then the charm must have malfun-’   
  
‘She turned around and walked back,’ Sharasvati interrupted abruptly.  
  
‘She did what?!’ Gellert asked, amazed.  
  
‘She went back from where she came. She said, “She knew this path would lead back home.” The charm broke immediately.’  
  
Gellert roared with laughter.   
  
Annoyed, Nathaira narrowed her eyes at him, tightening the grip on her wand.  
  
‘Oh come on, Vati,’ he chuckled, clutching to his belly. ‘You gotta hand it to her; it’s one hell of a joke on our so-called infallibility. She broke the charm,’ he repeated, giggling.  
  
‘Yeah, well, I’d be more amused if the joke wasn’t on me,’ she said. ‘I can’t teach this child anything. Her essay is madness. Her ideas are too far out there. Her magical skills are mediocre, but worse is that I can’t even guide her in her choices. She is not living in reality.’  
  
‘What if you put all your darkness inside her mind? Don’t try to locate hers, just infuse her with all you got. It’ll be impossible to ignore and she will have to deal with it.’  
  
‘You think I hadn’t thought of that already? I did that before trying the damn Dream Charm.’  
  
‘Are you telling me you couldn’t guide a girl after you filled her mind with all your dark magic?’ Gellert taunted, knowingly targeting the humongous ego of the witch to set her off, but for once these taunts fell on deaf ears.  
  
‘She said, “Wrackspurts are following me.” And she went to bed. I hit her with every last ounce of my dark magic, and she blames Wrackspurts,’ Nathaira said, shaking her head.  
  
‘Wrack-what?’  
  
‘Wrackspurts,’ Nathaira said, tired. ‘Don’t tell me the great Gellert Grindelwald has never heard of Wrackspurts?’  
  
‘Can’t say I have,’ he said, now thoroughly amused.  
  
‘Well, they eat your brain and make you feel fuzzy.’  
  
‘Okaaaay,’ Gellert replied, stretching out the vowel.   
  
‘I need help here.’  
  
‘Yeah, obviously.’  
  
‘Not from you, you idiot,’ she sneered. ‘From Him. I need you to contact him. You’re a natural at Apparation, and the only one of us Keepers capable of actually passing his bleeding wards without dying a horrible death.’  
  
Gellert sighed. He really didn’t feel like visiting Lord Voldemort. ‘Why not send Nebi to ask for his assistance?’  
  
‘I did. He didn’t reply back,’ Nathaira said, disgruntled anyone had the nerve to ignore her almighty being.  
  
Gellert bit his tongue, but it didn’t stop the laughter from bubbling to the surface; he coughed loudly, obscuring the laughing fit as he felt it closing in. He had a pretty good idea what happened to the envelope and he sincerely doubted it had been opened before it became part of the kindling in the hearth. When he felt secure enough he could hold his speech under control, he opened his mouth.   
  
‘Well, he does have his own apprentice. Perhaps he doesn’t feel like doing your job, too,’ Gellert replied tauntingly. ‘It is, after all, your responsibility.’   
  
‘I don’t need him to do anything. I only need to know what safety measures he used in his Nightmare Curse, so I can use that curse, too. I’d love to see her ditch her lesson then,’ Nathaira said vengefully.  
  
Gellert just looked at Nathaira.  
  
‘What,’ she snapped.  
  
‘Er – Vati, you are not really asking me to ask Tom Marvolo Riddle about his additions to an already dangerous Dark Arts curse,’ he said, blinking, because he was sure he must have misunderstood her.  
  
‘Concerned for Lovegood’s safety, Gellert?’  
  
‘No, concerned for mine.’   
  
‘Look, you little pip-squeak, the Nightmare Curse is all I have left; no one in all eternity has been able to resist the inherent darkness of that curse, but the risk of death is too great and we are not allowed to kill our apprentices,’ she said; she was very furious about that restriction.   
  
‘I can understand your dilemma; but really Vati, you’re delusional if you’ll think he’ll share his solution with you. The man’s a living, breathing, impenetrable vault. He is going to laugh in my face when I ask him.’ Gellert shook his head. He could just see himself having that conversation.  _Oh Lord Voldemort, could you pretty please tell me all about your personal inventions?_  
  
‘There must be something I could do for him in return,’ Nathaira retorted.  
  
‘You want to be in his debt?’ asked Gellert, warning her with his eyes to reconsider. He might not like the witch, but to hand someone over to him… Well, you had to be really spiteful and vindictive to do that. And he was absolutely not spiteful and vindictive. Well, not without a wand anyway.   
  
‘What choice do I have? I am dead if I don’t guide this impossible loony bin.’  
  
‘Well, I can ask,’ Gellert muttered, rolling his eyes; he had a pretty good idea to what the answer would be. Eh, he might not like Sharasvati Nathaira, but he was pretty sure Tom loathed her.  
  
‘Then go ask,’ Nathaira ordered impatiently. ‘Don’t hang around here like you have nowhere to be.’  
  
‘Always the hospitable one, aren’t you?’   
  
‘Just leave, Gellert, before I take out my frustration on you,’ she snarled, waving her wand at him threateningly.   
  
Soundlessly, he disappeared from the cave.   
  
Nathaira looked at the quiet empty spot. ‘How does he do that?’ she shouted before blowing up several pieces of furniture to let of steam.   
  
She hoped the man would return quickly. She really wanted to inflict some serious damage on the target of her anger, and the Cruciatus Curse just didn’t cut it. It didn’t create real physical damage. Sure, you could destroy someone’s mental state, but in this case… Ugh. Need she say more?   
  
In a swirl, she tossed her body over the backrest of the nearest couch and lay down, waiting for Grindelwald to give her Lord Voldemort’s answer. Merlin, that she had to ask a half-blood for help was another reason to get back at Li Mei for making her a guide to Luna Lovegood. Yes, when the time came, she would get even with Mei. She would get even.  
  
\---  
  
The full moon in the enchanted window cast its bright light across the chamber, highlighting the girl’s form in a spectrum of black-and-white colours, as she slept on her right side in the bed he’d provided her with. Shadows danced eerily around the four-poster when the occasional cloud blocked the biggest light source of the room, leaving it up to the one candle on the wall, she had left burning. At the foot of the bed, Lord Voldemort leaned against the post with his shoulder, while gazing intently at Hermione Granger.   
  
She’d hugged one of the pillows to her chest, her left arm around it, while the other lay limp underneath her head in between her curls. The bed’s white covers were draped only around her torso, wrinkling tremendously. They had long given up hope of staying neatly tucked into any edge of the bed. The same was true for her big shabby sleeveless nightshirt. He’d seen her standing in it before, and it was so long it reached over her knees; but she’d twisted and turned in her sleep so much, it was now wrinkled up all the way to her stomach, revealing a lot of naked skin and her cute bottom inside a pair of sensible white panties.   
  
Her left leg lay in an odd, uncomfortable appearing stretched out position, making her foot dangle outside the bed at nearly the same height as her head was on; while her right leg was curled up against her butt. Someone was going to have some serious sore muscles when she woke. He grinned, pushing himself away from the post, slowly strolling toward the side of the bed with his wand in his hand.   
  
Everything turned out most convenient for him. When he had used the Nightmare Curse on the girl, he’d made more modifications than merely the one to prevent her from dying. It was something he hadn’t felt the need to share with the other Keepers. It wouldn’t do to upset Dumbles and his posse after all.   
  
However, at the time, he had merely thought the modifications would turn useful in their ability to destroy Potter’s best friend. He had considered her to be nothing but a Mudblood in dire need of elimination. Someone, whose intelligence and skill were far overrated by those incompetent of seeing real talent. Someone, who was foolish enough to think she could steal from him and get away with it; an insignificant detail in Potter’s environment.   
  
Boy, had he been mistaken.   
  
Mistaken, a term most unsuited to describe the greatness that is Lord Voldemort. It irked him severely he had to use it once. It would not happen again – never, ever again. This girl was to be the only exception.  
  
The severity of her injuries, her near-death experience despite his inserted fail-safe; those things had intrigued him. After all, a Nightmare Curse only affected the most powerful to such extend, but he had pushed her reaction aside as an anomaly. His excuse being that perhaps she had an underlying physical condition, which had triggered her absurd condition.   
  
However, the girl had the nerve to demand a meeting after her recovery – he’d been absolutely livid about it at the time. He’d wanted to crucio Dumbledore for all eternity. He’d wanted to coat every single lemon drop in the whole of Great Britain with slow-working, excruciatingly painful venom to make sure he’d got his well-earned punishment for forcing him to be this Mudblood’s guide. But that meeting had turned into a blessing in disguise, because it had shown him her true potential.  
  
Nowadays, the girl being his apprentice, made him feel ecstatic; for without it he would never have known this seemingly insignificant girl had the sharpness of mind to come to the same conclusion he had when he had been an apprentice – namely that McMullen’s theory was worthless. If she would have had any other guide but him, this would have never come to his attention, because they would not have allowed her to continue her essay in that direction. He remembered clearly the amount of opposition he had blatantly cast aside as nonsense when he wrote his essay.   
  
Yes, in case you were foolish enough to wonder or hope for a happy ending, his guide did mysteriously disappear one evening and was never heard from ever again.   
  
Sure, Dumbledore had suspected him to have a hand in the disappearance; but eh, Tom Riddle had classes and a person could hardly be at two places at once; right?   
  
Wrong!   
  
He sniggered. He had to hand it to Abraxas Malfoy though. He wasn’t as useless as his offspring. The polyjuiced boy had been pretty darn good at imitating his posture, his walk, the way he talked, his every gesture – a bit too good. It would have been obvious to any imbecile that Abraxas had done some previous imitations. Tom had  _“explained”_  his displeasure about this at his earliest convenience, despite Abraxas’s useful assistance in helping him get away with murder. Killing the Keeper, who had the gall to mock his theory, had been most pleasurable. Murder quickly became his newest hobby.   
  
Nevertheless, Lord Voldemort was pretty sure Hermione would not have had the strength to keep believing in her theories and continue working on them if they were trashed over and over again by her tutor. Her insecurity would have been her undoing. Carefully, he sat down on the bedside her back was turned to. The motion merely made her sigh and hug the pillow a bit closer. She did not wake.   
  
Thoughtfully, he eyed the wand in his hand before watching Hermione again. Now that he understood the full range of her fear of failure, it was clear to him why Dumbledore had chosen him as the girl’s guide. Lord Voldemort was indeed the most likely one to assist her in correcting this insane character flaw.   
  
Back then, he had expected Albus to pick McFerlon, Dubois or Bouvier, since neither of those dark Keepers gave a damn about someone’s blood-status. But these three were too dim-witted in the social arena to do something about her weaknesses. Petro fell off, because he was too lazy to put any effort into another person. Nathaira, who had the manipulative skill and the intelligence to use it, would have destroyed Hermione, purely out of spite over her heritage.   
  
Merlin, he remembered the woman nagging on and on and on when he visited her the first and last time in India. It was like Sharasvati Nathaira had been worried he hadn’t understood it the first million times she explained how important the right blood was for someone of magic. With the condescending tone she had dared to speak to him, she’d been lucky he’d made Keeper by then; otherwise she’d be a nice, little Inferi right about now. He’d had to torture and kill someone else afterward to relieve the tension headache the witch had given him. No, Sharasvati was out of the question as an option. She was a bigger fanatic about blood than all the Lestranges placed together.   
  
Gellert…?  
  
Lord Voldemort tapped with his wand in his hand. He had to admit Gellert had the capabilities to steer a person into the right direction _if_  he felt like it. And Gellert’s strive always was aimed more at the subjugation of muggles – not so much at the different wizarding blood-types. Sure, he valued pureblood as the highest; but as long as you were magical and saw things his way, he could live with you.   
  
Perhaps it had been the past between the two that made Dumbledore pick him as the more likely person to assist the girl over Grindelwald? The responses he had got from the man concerning Hermione so far didn’t make it seem likely Grindelwald would have felt like helping her out. Dumbledore must have realised that Lord Voldemort would see her true potential and act upon it.   
  
Also, Gellert’s words would never have the same amount of weight to it as  _His_  would have to Hermione. Grindelwald belonged in the past, while he was very much a part of her present, an enemy even. A compliment from someone who was your adversary held considerable more weight than one from someone you considered to be history. Of course, Gellert also didn’t have a wand, which limited the man’s abilities to act as a true guide should.   
  
No, it seemed poor Albus had been stuck with him. A vile smirk made it to his snakelike face, lightening up his features with an undeniably evil joy. This surely must have caused that ridiculously everlasting, on-your-nerve-getting, I-Know-Something-You-Don’t twinkle to leave the old coot’s eyes for awhile. He considered this fact alone a testament to the value of this entire apprenticeship, but it would become even better once he had Hermione change sides.   
  
Lord Voldemort looked back at the sleeping girl and his eyes turned thoughtful. If he’d been Dumbledore, he wouldn’t have risked it with someone so valuable. But he always seemed to be able to underestimate how low Albus could go. Sure, Lord Voldemort knew a thing or two about going low. He himself had set up his own fair share of his stupid, blundering followers to be taken down by his opponents, Draco Malfoy being the latest example; but that was all part of his devilish Dark Lord charm. When Dumbledore did the same, it was just annoying everyone to tears.  
  
Well, this time around, Albus’s plotting would blow up in his face. He’d show the fool the true definition of loss. What Lord Voldemort wants, he damn well will get. And the moment he realised Hermione Granger had the intelligence to see through the idiocy that’s called a theory of everything, he knew exactly on which side she belonged –  _His._    
  
He might not have realised her full potential back when he cursed her with the nightmare, but now that he had…   
  
A wicked glint danced in his eyes.   
  
Now that he had, he was going to take full advantage of those modifications he planted in that curse.   
  
Cautiously (in order not to wake her), he stretched out his hand and stroked through her hair. For something that appeared like a bush of exploded barbed wire, it felt incredibly soft when it ran through his fingers. Several strands were stuck to her face. He gently brushed them back, trying to flatten them, to tame them into keeping their place with the others; but they stubbornly jumped back into their previous position the moment he removed his hand.   
  
 _How very typical._  
  
Waiting patiently for the proper response, he kept on patting Hermione’s hair. It took a couple of minutes before she suddenly let out an inarticulate noise, moved her left leg on top of her right, and rolled around. She came to a stop when her side bumped against him, which caused her left arm to end up in his lap and her bend legs to drop, stretching themselves out on the flat cotton surface. Wand ready, he waited to see if she’d wake.   
  
Fortunately, she didn’t; a true testament to the actual power of his modifications. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, while he watched her lay there, sprawled on her back helplessly. It was about to get so much worse. He moved his wand in a fluent, wavelike motion above her face and cast non-verbally, ‘Somnus Totallus!’   
  
She let out a deep sigh and every muscle in her body turned completely flaccid. He felt her arm slide out of his lap, until it bungled slightly over the side of the bed – unable to go farther. No longer having to worry she would waken, he picked up her dangling arm and placed it above her head where her other arm lay. There, they wouldn’t be in his way. Studying the peaceful expression on her face, he waited a moment before cupping her cheek with his left hand. After running his fingers in small circles over her soft skin, he slowly moved his thumb over her lips, took a hold of her jaw, and opened her mouth. Placing his right hand close by her head for support, he took a deep breath and leaned forward. His lips captured hers easily.   
  
Focussing intently, he blew every bit of air he had down her windpipe – his dark magic swirled down with it, searching Hermione’s body for that tiny dark flame to supply it with food and oxygen to turn up the heat. He closed his eyes and moaned against her lips when his magic came into contact with the little seed his Nightmare Curse had sown. It was beautifully rooted into the very essence of her being already. This was going to be much easier than expected. She must have had quite an inclination to do dark deeds before his curse.   
  
Not unexpected though, in the past when he had wanted more information about Potter’s friends, he’d got some reports from Severus about her more questionable jinxing actions. He recalled the sheer annoyance on Severus’s face as he informed him about the things Miss Perfect and Everybody’s Favourite Gryffindor Prefect had got away with. It had been hard for him not to laugh real loud in Severus’s face; but you had to see the irony of it, and he didn’t think Snape would get it.   
  
Reluctantly, he withdrew from her lips when what he really wanted to do was make that little dark flame roar and burn away every last residue of light inside of her. But she was not stupid. If he did that, she’d know he’d done something to her when she woke; and she would fight him tooth and nail. He didn’t feel like fighting a dark witch of her power – no, she had to be his witch first. It had to go gradually, seemingly organic, one lousy irritatingly slow step at the time. By the time Lord Voldemort would ask her to stand beside him, doing his bidding; it had to be the logical next step to take to her. And not just in her eyes, but also to everyone else in her environment too. It would crush that whole pitiful Order of the Nugget to pieces if someone that close to their boy wonder switched sides. They wouldn’t know who to trust after such a joyous event occurred.   
  
His high-pitched laugh bounced of the walls.   
  
Thoroughly happy, he gazed at the girl who was going to destroy them all for him. Though Potter and the silly ignorant Order were irrelevant when it came down to the real target he wanted to use her for. He should write Dumbledore a letter expressing his Lordship’s utmost gratitude. The old coot had unwittingly secured his victory.   
  
With a devious expression, he leaned back to Hermione’s face. Lord Voldemort might not be able to turn her dark overnight, but he could toy with her a bit. He’d had so much fun in that hallway, noticing the amount of restraint it cost her to stay still, to not fall victim to his magic. He’d seen the confusion on her face – not understanding why she felt the way she did. He could have informed her it was due to the choice she had to have made in her nightmare in order to survive it. He’d known from the moment he heard she was on the verge of dying that if she lived, she would be his. She would have to surrender her magic into his care, submit to him fully, and this was not something exclusive to the Land of Phobetor. No, it was very real; a dream that wouldn’t go away once you opened your eyes and returned to reality. He was her reality now and he had waited long enough – controlled himself long enough around her; it was time she began to see who was her master.  
  
So far her memories had not supplied him with any visuals of her nightmare during their Occlumency exercises. Her mind was subconsciously doing what he was trying to teach her; it had compartmentalised her memory of the event to such a degree you had to pass too much rubbish to obtain it. No amount of Stage Two Legilimency would bring it to the surface – you needed to be able to do the real deal, Stage Three. The fact that she had buried it so deep was pretty telling all on its own. But, since she had almost died, he knew what would have to have happened in order for her to stay alive, so he knew why she stuffed it away. It was time to see the details for himself. Holding his wand in his hand, he whispered to her lips, ‘Legilimens!’  
  
It’s when he kissed her thoroughly on her mouth, forcing his magic inside of her while closing his eyes to mentally establish a connection to her mind. He had to be quick. This was Stage Three Legilimency, the most dangerous one of all to perform for its victim, so he had to locate the correct memory fast in order not to fry every single one of her brain-cells. Fortunately, her magic was his to command, the memory he needed was from a dream, and her mind was already hovering in that state, so he caught it within the timeframe he deemed to be safe. Smirking, he filed away the details and left her mind.   
  
It was even better than the Dark Lord could have hoped for. Thank Rowena, for he had to make use of this information. It wouldn’t matter if Hermione figured out, this was his doing. Though, he wondered if she would. Hogwarts wasn’t exactly known for his great sex-ed lessons; she had hardly spent time with her muggle parents, and she seemed pretty green in the memory. But, she was a teenager after all. Teenagers were walking hormone bombs waiting to explode. All he had to do was add some magical fuel. He sniggered. He had plenty of fuel.   
  
‘Flamma Hormonallus!’ he cast, tracing her skin with his wand.  
  
He, then, placed the tip of his wand on his skin and cast, ‘Priori Incantato!’   
  
A ghost image of his previous spell traced his skin, connecting them intimately again. One thing was for sure when Hermione would wake from her deep slumber, she wouldn’t be doing any studying. Sniggering loudly, Lord Voldemort stood up. His wand flashed one last time. ‘Somnus Finite!’  
  
And he apparated away to the corridor in the dungeons. He had made his insipid followers (including Narcissa and Draco) wait in one of Lucius’s hospitable cellars after the departure of the ministry workers. He still had some explaining to do to Bella and it would be most effective to her and everyone else who dared to even consider questioning his judgement if he performed his explanation in front of them all. He also needed to do some obliviating on the Malfoy boy, and then, there was Severus. What to do with Severus? The man obviously had recognised Hermione. She had tried her best, but even he had seen some of the telltale gestures she had made, so he was positive Severus would have picked up on them. The man had been around the girl much longer than he had been. So, obliviate Snape or not?   
  
He smirked. Perhaps he should leave that problem for Dumbo? Yes, he would. It would be most telling if Severus joined him again with or without his memory intact.   
  
Well, this shouldn’t take too long. He should be done on time before Hermione woke. He would make good use of his spell. It was going to be so much fun toying with her. Wondering in what state he would find her in, he made the decision there was no rush in getting there. No rush at all. With a crash, he slammed open the door to the cellar.   
  
‘Bella, I believe we have a previous set appointment to keep,’ Voldemort said cheerfully. ‘Crucio!’  
  
\---  
  
‘Gellert?’ he asked sighing, wishing for once the man would announce himself before dropping in like a thief in the night.  
  
‘Just thought I’d hop by with some news before I am off,’ Gellert responded lightly and planted his behind quickly in one of the more comfortable chairs visible. ‘Nothing big. Just Nathaira loosing it completely.’  
  
‘Oh?’ said the man at the other side of the table, looking up with interest, drawing his attention away from his stack of papers in front of him.  
  
‘Yes, she is convinced Mei gave her this apprentice to drive her insane or get her killed,’ Gellert continued, winking. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me one bit either. Mei is devious and dark enough to do something like it. And I have to say I have kind of wondered why things were proceeding the way they are, ever since both you and Mei chose the most dangerous ones of all to guide your candidates simultaneously. I mean no one in their right mindset would choose Nathaira with her track-record of destroying candidates; and no one has ever been foolish enough to pick Tom, so…’ he wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Care to enlighten me, Albus?’   
  
Albus shook his head, smiling. ‘Gellert, you are becoming quite the conspiracy theorist.’  
  
‘Perhaps I am,’ Gellert said, laughing. ‘Must be the company I keep. Anyway, it seems Lovegood is managing her assignment without guidance.’  
  
‘What do you mean without guidance? Are you saying Nathaira is deliberately letting this girl fail by doing nothing?’ asked Dumbledore sharply, and his posture went from mild interest to alert in a second.  
  
‘No, she is trying her hardest to make Lovegood fall into darkness. It’s Luna who’s ignoring her. It’s Luna who avoided the Dream Sequence,’ Gellert ended, watching his old friend across the desk with anticipation. He was not disappointed.  
  
‘Avoided it?’ asked Dumbledore, intrigued.  
  
‘She didn’t pick one of the two paths ahead but went back from where she came,’ Gellert said, smirking.  
  
Dumbledore gasped, and then, he shook his head. ‘Creative,’ he complimented.   
  
‘No shit. It makes me worry less about your candidate.’  
  
‘Worry?’   
  
‘Yeah, worry,’ Gellert replied sharp, glaring at Albus. ‘Worry she will make it ’till the end, taking her guide into consideration. I’ve known you to take a risk or two in your life, Albus, but one as huge as this?’ He shook his head. ‘We both know it’s either her or Lovegood, and despite Luna’s creativity, I am not sure her magic is up for the job.’  
  
‘Giving up on your own candidate?’ Albus asked, amused. ‘Or giving up on me?’  
  
‘Draco doesn’t have what it takes,’ Gellert said dismissively. ‘I know it; you know it; Tom knows it; Sharasvati knows it; everyone knows it beside the boy. Maybe he will get through this round, but we both know the next task will be his undoing.’  
  
‘You don’t think I can guide Draco past the next assignment?’ Dumbledore said; his eyes twinkled knowingly.  
  
‘I think the boy will get you killed in the next assignment. He won’t be able to resist the power; he won’t be able to control it; and she will tear him and with him you to shreds if you’re not careful.’  
  
‘Draco’s biggest failing is indeed his vanity,’ Dumbledore said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘He would be capable of doing more than he shows now if he stopped obsessing about being a Malfoy. He may surprise you.’  
  
‘Yeah, well whatever, I’d watch my back anyway if I were you.’  
  
‘Why did you pick him if you’re so convinced he is going to fail?’ asked Albus curiously.  
  
Gellert shrugged. ‘I just picked the first at hand.’  
  
‘The first at hand?’ Albus replied, frowning.  
  
‘Yeah, you know me; lazy, lazy, lazy. I didn’t feel like looking, since the seat is obviously going to a light candidate anyway.’  
  
‘Why Gellert, that’s the biggest bull you’ve ever tried to sell to me,’ Albus said, leaning back in his chair, pushing his fingertips to one another. ‘Olsen’s death came right after Tom regained his physical body. Don’t tell me you’ve grown a heart and picked Draco so I could show him the errors of his ways before he would be entrapped as his parents are?’  
  
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Gellert grumbled, shifting in his seat.   
  
Dumbledore’s features lighted up; he leaned forward positively delighted. ‘My, my, I thought I’d never see the day Gellert Grindelwald did something nice for another human being.’  
  
‘I do nice things all the time,’ Gellert disagreed, sticking his nose in the air.   
  
‘Now, there is no need to disqualify one of your kinder deeds like that.’  
  
‘My kinder deeds, yeah,’ Gellert muttered, shaking his head, ‘we are all stuck with my kind deeds.’  
  
‘We can’t change the past, Gellert,’ Albus said softly. ‘No matter how much we may want to. You can only life in the present.’  
  
‘I put that man on our Council, Albus. I, nobody else,’ Gellert hissed.   
  
‘I think there are more reasons Tom got there.’  
  
‘If I hadn’t made him a candidate just to spite you, no one would have seen his talent for the dark. You’d think Nathaira ever in a million years would have picked a half-blood?’ he snorted, emphasising on the idiocy of believing she would ever do such a thing. ‘Petro is too lazy to check outside his back garden. Dubois thinks only the French are capable of performing true magic. McFerlon, McFerlon-’  
  
‘What’s done is done, Gellert,’ Albus interrupted.   
  
‘Easy for you to say,’ Gellert said, slamming his fist on the desk. ‘You don’t have to carry this burden. The legacy of the fabulous Grindelwald.’ He rose from his chair. ‘Well, I am off to meet with my legacy,’ he sneered. ‘Nathaira wants use of his alterations in the Nightmare Curse to get it into Lovegood’s thick skull the dark is a happy place.’   
  
‘Nathaira is asking Tom for help?’ Dumbledore said, alarmed.  
  
‘Thought you might want to know,’ Gellert replied casually, and he continued ironically, ‘Now I gotta go convince Lord Voldemort to part with his knowledge.’  
  
‘Gellert!’   
  
‘Yeah?’ he looked over his shoulder.  
  
‘Let me know when he does, will you?’   
  
‘When he does, not if,’ Gellert said slowly. ‘You think he’s going to?’ He turned around, amazed. ‘You don’t even have an ounce of doubt about it. We are talking about Lord Voldemort sharing his knowledge with the greatness that is Isabella Sharasvati Nathaira.’  
  
Albus sighed. ‘I know how he feels about the woman, Gellert. It’s exactly why he will go for it. He will love having a hold over her. I’ll contact Mei to let her know Luna Lovegood is in need of additional security.’ He swore and swirled to his feet. ‘Godric only knows what he is going to use Nathaira’s insane skills for. Just for once it would be nice if things would not get overly complicated.’   
  
‘Wow, that statement coming from you is like-like…’  
  
‘Like what?’ Albus snapped.  
  
‘Well, I don’t seem to have the words, Master Complicator,’ Gellert said with a bow, and he apparated away, leaving Albus Dumbledore standing absolutely flabbergasted.   
  
\---  
  
‘Nathaira wants what?’ Lord Voldemort asked merely for entertainment purposes (he’d understood the question the first time he’d heard it after all); a small smile stayed inevitably present on his lipless mouth.  
  
‘Your assistance,’ Gellert repeated; disgruntled, he had to say it again.  _He really should stop functioning as a bloody owl one of these days._  
  
‘Oh really,’ Voldemort said mockingly, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands in front of his stomach. ‘Are you sure we are talking about the same person, because I could have sworn I’ve heard you say Miss High-And-Mighty wants my-’  
  
‘I am glad you’re enjoying basking in your glory right now; but could you just tell me what to say to the damn woman, so I can go back to enjoy the peace and quietness of my allegedly well-deserved imprisonment.’  
  
It turned eerily silent.   
  
 _Oh nice going, Gellert, real smart thinking there._  
  
‘I am so sorry to be an inconvenience to your spend time, Gellert,’ Voldemort said quietly. ‘It would be a shame if your important postal duties were hindered in any way.’  
  
 _Sticks and stones, Tommy boy, sticks and stones._  
  
Lord Voldemort rose to his feet – wand in hand.   
  
 _Crap. It wasn’t a suggestion._  
  
The Dark Lord halted his stride inches away from him and gave him a condescending look. ‘I have something better to spend my time on than you, Gellert. You can tell Sharasvati I’ll take her request under consideration.’ He walked on.  
  
‘She was positive there might be something you could need from her in exchange,’ Gellert added. He’d left out this bit of information for as long as he could.  
  
Voldemort halted in front of the dungeon’s door and looked back. ‘I am sure she was,’ he said, smirking, and left the room.   
  
It gave Lord Voldemort immense pleasure to leave the pureblood witch hanging for the time being. He hoped she would fret continuously about the possibility he’d say no to her. He had to give it some thought though; having Nathaira owe him could come quite in handy some day. On the other hand, if his no would mean her undoing, that could also prove an advantage to his goals. Two vacant seats were always better than one. But right now, he had better things to deal with than Nathaira, much better things.   
  
-


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**  
  
Life sucked if you were a woman. The thought rushed her when she woke in sheer discomfort; a deep throbbing pulsed through her veins. Yeah, life really sucked. Hermione groaned, clutched the sheets tightly between her legs and rolled over. This was so inconvenient. Expecting a certain someone to investigate her belongings and not wanting to die straight away from sheer embarrassment, she hadn’t brought anything along to help relieve herself. Well, she had her fingers, but that would take forever and it just wasn’t the same. Perhaps if she just ignored it, it would go away.   
  
 _Sure._  
  
She pushed her face deep in her pillow. Perhaps if she passed out, she would wake again without this nonsense.   
  
 _Another extremely viable option._  
  
She groaned against the soft fabric. No, she knew that didn’t work. Brief moments of lack of oxygen usually made the feelings worse. She should have realised it last night when she almost wanted to jump Lord Voldemort’s bony body, she was nearing her ovulation date. It always made her horny as hell; but with the right potions and equipment, she’d been able to conceal it pretty darn good at Hogwarts. Neither was available to her right now. She moved around a bit, rubbing the sheet between her legs, until she realised what she was doing and jumped out of bed.   
  
 _Okay, one cold shower coming up._  
  
Her eyes fell on the intricate detail of the carvings on the wooden bedpost. Or perhaps she could hump one of those posts? Those ridges seemed to be made just for her enjoyment.   
  
Ugh. Keep it together, Granger. You’ll never hear the end of it if Lord Voldemort happened to walk into the room, while you’re doing that.   
  
The visual made her settle for the cold shower, immediately. It had to do the trick. Quickly grabbing her wand and her beaded bag, she raced into what only could be described as a glorious bathroom. It was all marble, white with veins of different shades of grey. Thank heaven; there wasn’t any pink to be spotted in here. Somehow, it reminded her a bit of the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts. Only the tub wasn’t as large or as quickly filled, and there was no flirtatious mermaid picture on the wall. The only decorative features here were a couple of apparently obligatory silver snake ornaments. The ones, which also functioned as taps, had made her slightly paranoid in the beginning; but everything was in working order, so she ignored the creepy thought.   
  
However, this place had one thing the Hogwarts’ bathroom sorely missed. It had the beneficence of having a huge shower, which was her preferred method of cleansing her body anyway. She, quickly, turned on the cold water tap and smiled when the water began pouring down like a tropical rainstorm opening the floodgates. Having dumped her dirty linen into the hamper, she took a deep breath and took the plunge. She yelled in shock when the extreme cold water came in contact with her body. She jumped around, cursing and swearing, unable to stand still while Goosebumps covered her flesh all over. Too bloody cold, far too bloody cold!   
  
She shivered.   
  
Quickly, she turned off the tap and wrapped a towel around her body. She let out a deep sigh, glad that was over and done with. It wasn’t pleasant, but very effective. She rubbed her back dry, her arms, her front, her legs, between her legs… just a bit longer. It was still wet there. Oh yes, that felt soooo…   
  
Fuck!   
  
Shocked, she halted her movements. It hadn’t helped at all. That horrific cold shower had not alleviated her symptoms one bit. It should have. It really should have. Disgruntled, she tossed the towel in the hamper too. Now what?   
  
Oh well, she was a witch after all. She walked to the luxurious sink and picked up her wand. ‘Aquamenti!’ she cast at the large bathtub behind her, after which she used a Hot-Air Charm to heat up the water to a nice comfortable temperature.   
  
She rummaged through her beaded bag, which she’d placed on the stool in front of the sink, and pulled out a deodorant. It would do. She wasn’t the best at Transfiguration for nothing. Looking at the result of her quick spell-casting, Hermione decided Transfiguration definitely had to be the most useful subject taught at Hogwarts.  _One cookie for McGonagall._  
  
Feeling incredibly happy she was a witch and therefore didn’t have to suffer the usual consequences other women had to when they lowered their bodies into hot water and then tried to insert something inside, she whipped her wand around, lay back and relaxed, while her toy did its supposed work.   
  
She closed her eyes, resting her head on the rim, and let her hands wander over her aroused body in the warm water. It felt really nice to touch herself, while she got closer and closer to the edge of that wave. Her breathing and pulse increased quickly with every thrust of her magical dildo. She was  _sooo_  close,  _sooo_  close. Yet it seemed to stay just out of her reach.   
  
It continued to stay just out of her reach.   
  
It didn’t get any closer at all.   
  
No, it only made the wanton feelings worse, much worse.  
  
Finally, she threw her head back and screamed in frustration. She yanked out the dildo and tossed it through the bathroom violently. It still danced on the floor, while she took a deep breath and sank to the bottom of the tub. Her hair floated around her face; she felt like she was weightless, hovering in a zero gravity environment. Hermione blew bubbles of all kinds of sizes with her mouth, until she had no more air left and she resurfaced with a gasp. Tossing her head back and combing her fingers through her wet hair to get it out of her face, she let out a frustrated groan.   
  
Her entire body pulsed with the need to be touched, to be filled. Her lips were swollen, ready to kiss and be kissed. Her hands desired to touch and be touched in return. Her walls clenched and unclenched at nothing – so needy, so empty, and so very unsatisfied. Her body craved sex; it demanded satisfaction. A yearning no stupid toy could fill. Using it had only made her libido increase tremendously.   
  
Hermione leaned forward. Her elbows leaned on her bend knees, while her head rested in her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her mind – focus it away from this urge, this wantonness, this eagerness, this all-consuming lust. Her hands disappeared into her hair, clutching at it harshly. Why couldn’t she focus? What was wrong with her? This. Was. Not. Normal.   
  
Her fingers curled in her hair, pulling at the strands. The small pain cleared her mind slightly and she opened her eyes when the idea struck home. But she had to make it good, otherwise it wouldn’t help. Grabbing her wand from the rim of the tub, she hesitated a moment before she slashed open her arm from shoulder to wrist with a  _Diffindo._  Blood sprayed around and the pain was thoroughly overwhelming. She yelled, while pure survival instinct chased away all other sensations. Hermione gasped, and then, smiled. Biology had done its work – survival before pleasure. It was over.  
  
‘Episkey!’ she cast quickly.   
  
Her arm healed, her mind cleared, and her body stilled, she got out of the tub and made herself ready for the day, feeling mighty pleased and smug about her successful intervention. Nothing stopped Hermione Jean Granger from going about her studies, especially not stupid hormones. ‘HAH!’  
  
Putting her breakfast on her desk, she unrolled her scroll and started making notes on her essay, while nibbling on a salty cracker. Slowly, she licked her lips after finishing it. Her mind fully entranced on finding the right words to explain the correlation between force, speed and mass of a spell, she caressed her neck with the soft feather of her quill.   
  
Merlin, she loved the smell of parchment in the morning.   
  
She fidgeted in her seat. Thirsty, she felt thirsty. Her left hand reached for her tea cup. She held it under her nose and savoured that odour, too, closing her eyes while taking a sip; delicious. The best tea she ever had. It glided past the taste papillae on your tongue as if heaven had come to earth. Hermione moaned.   
  
She’d moved the feather to caress the other side of her neck as she put her cup down. That banana looked mighty tasty. She placed the quill in the inkpot and peeled the banana. Making all kinds of  _“mmm”_  noises, she stuck it into her mouth and graced her teeth along the shaft. Sucking it lazily, she scraped off thin slices of the fruit into her mouth, nice and soft as she preferred it. So sweet, so sugary, so absolutely desirable and filling. She closed her eyes and treasured the moment of holding it in her mouth fully, of letting her tongue slide around it, exploring the texture and sweet taste of the banana. Another moan escaped her lips, while she sucked it, until it became a hot fluid in her mouth, ready to be swallowed down into her gastro-intestinal system - yummy.   
  
Hermione sighed and rubbed her neck with her left hand, while picking up her quill with the other. What to write now? Leaning on her elbow, her hand still rubbing her neck, she stared at the parchment. Absentminded, she traced her lips with the quill’s feather. They felt ticklish, and it seemed to spread. The titillating sensation travelled from her head to her toes, making her pulse speed up. Her breaths came out in ragged pants, and her body thrummed once again with a passion so overwhelming it drove her to the edge of insanity. She no longer fidgeted but twisted in her seat, as blood pulsed into her nether regions so forcefully she could count her heartbeats with each throb inside her pubic bone. She groaned and hit her head on her desk repeatedly out of sheer desperation.   
  
 _Not again.  
  
She was never going to get anything done today, never. _  
  
Then … her heart skipped a beat. Her stomach made a little flip-flop. She froze with her forehead against her desk; her hands covered beneath mountains of brown frizz, as she had positioned them next to her head. Her body identified his presence before her mind acknowledged it. She sensed more than saw him place his hands next to hers on the desk. She felt his body towering over her, a long line of unimaginable heat at her back. Hermione closed her eyes as every sensory cell ran into overdrive when his magic engulfed the very essence of her being, throwing away all caution and what little restrained she had left.   
  
‘Slept well, my little Gryffindor?’ he breathed against the exposed back of her neck.   
  
She shivered.   
  
A low chuckle escaped his lips, vibrating against her spine, causing another involuntary shudder to occur. His hands moved against her lower arms, stroking her curls aside to lay them bare before him. His long fingers traced her wrists before folding around them, circling them easily, capturing her. She gasped when the rest of her body came in contact with his. He slid behind her in the chair, wrapping his much taller frame around her. Lord Voldemort lifted her torso up and trapped her in his arms, her legs between his, her magic nothing but a glimmer of light inside his all-consuming cloud of darkness. Resting her head against his chest, she waited; motionless, her muscles tense, her breaths shallow, her eyes closed. All of her was waiting for his command, his direction, his guidance.   
  
She licked her lips, took a deep breath and swallowed. A tremble formed; fear and excitement rushed her, took over her body, her mind, and her soul. What would he do to her? Would it hurt? Would it satisfy this terrible craving? Would she survive it unscathed?  
  
He hugged her tighter.   
  
‘Please,’ she begged, her voice shaking.   
  
He held her quietly. The only response she got was the warmth of his arms, his legs, his body around her.  
  
Her fear spiked. Adrenaline flushed through her veins. Her heart raced. Hot, she felt so hot. Her face was so warm, so sensitive, so tingling; her eyes itched behind her closed eyelids. It drove her mad. Quivering violently, she sat there.   
  
Almost languorously, he bent forward and placed his mouth in the curve of her neck and shoulder to suck her skin tenderly. Letting out a long breath, her body stilled. She tilted her head to the side, granting him better access, and he graced his teeth over her skin, causing a shudder of anticipation to occur. Her limbs twisted inside his strong hold. She tried to struggle, but she couldn’t regain her freedom. She was his captive, his prisoner, his price. She felt it in every fibre of her being. He’d caught her and he wasn’t letting go. He’d never let her go. For some inconspicuous reason, it made her feel safe knowing that. A quiet affirmation came over her; she stopped fighting and relaxed in his arms.   
  
His head turned to face her. ‘You are mine, Hermione,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You will always be mine.’  
  
She surrendered, nodding her head slightly in confirmation, for she knew it to be true.   
  
He let go of one of her wrists and moved his hand through her hair, patting her softly, until he grabbed onto a handful of curls and pulled her head back roughly. Hermione gasped; her eyes flew open and she stared straight into his crimson gaze. It was blinding. She felt unable to look away, like staring into the sun knowing it was ruining your retinas but still being so fascinated that you stayed watching those bright white flashes contrasting with the dark negative circles which followed.   
  
‘Say it, Hermione,’ he ordered quietly.   
  
She blinked, dazed.  
  
‘I want to hear you say it,’ he repeated more forcefully.   
  
Dark magic swirled around them. It connected with those roots she had inside.   
  
‘I am yours,’ she whispered; her mind a blur, she was trapped in his gaze.  
  
‘Yes, you are,’ he said with a smirk, before he claimed her mouth with his.   
  
His hand kept a firm hold of the back of her head, keeping their mouths pressed together as his tongue demanded access. Controlling every move, his tongue pressed against hers, claiming her attention, ordering her to follow his lead as he breathed her in. She had no choice but to relinquish herself to his actions, to take his guidance wherever he may lead her, to let him taint her with his essence. She was the student, he her teacher. She was his apprentice, he her master. She had to follow his lead, for he was and always would be Lord Voldemort; the self-pronounced greatest wizard of all – a leader and mover of men long before she was ever born. Lord Voldemort led, he did not follow, and he was about to lead her where she had never gone before with another.  
  
Slow and almost tauntingly, his right hand moved down her back, pulling the fabric of her shirt up. His left hand disappeared underneath it, caressing her naked skin, moving to her side and taking a hold of her there. His right hand copied the movement, until he held her waist tightly between his hands. He withdrew from her mouth, unclasped his legs from hers and turned her body a quart in his lap, so she sat sideways in his arms; both her legs stationed at his left side. She breathed heavily; her pupils dilated in anticipation when he traced her skin with his yew wand. A simple flick of his wrist and her clothes were all gone.   
  
Squirming awkwardly in his lap, she lowered her eyes as he took in her fully exposed figure meticulously. He lifted her chin and gazed straight into her embarrassed eyes, while he spoke, ‘You are absolutely gorgeous, Hermione.’  
  
She yelped as he suddenly rose, lifting her in his arms. She clasped her arms around his neck to not fall, and he sniggered, looking down at her. ‘Feeling comfortable enough with me already?’ he teased.   
  
Hermione blushed severely and tried to gain some distance by letting go of his neck; but he pressed her body back against his with a devious grin. ‘That’s better,’ he claimed. ‘I’d hate to think I was losing my evil dark lord touch.’  
  
She just gaped at him.   
  
He made her yelp in surprise when he simply threw her on the bed. Smirking, he crawled on it. His movements were oddly graceful, for you’d expect a crawling adult male to look ridiculous; but his every gesture seemed to acknowledge the tremendous force that lingered inside of him. And all that power slowly moved toward her, claiming her.   
  
Her heart in her throat, Hermione scattered to the headboard on her behind, until she could go no farther. She pulled her knees to her chest. He halted on his knees in front of her. She jerked when his hands slammed into the headboard on either side of her head. His snakelike face came within inches of hers, as he angled his upper body forward.   
  
‘Are these features repulsive to you?’ he asked softly.   
  
Hermione blinked, surprised again.   
  
He tilted his head, waiting for a reply.  
  
‘N-no,’ she stuttered.  
  
The condescending look he gave her was telling.  
  
She shook her head more firmly in denial, making her hair fly around.   
  
Voldemort ignored her and said, ‘I know I used to be more appealing to the female persuasion. However, I can assure you this face is the major difference from the first time you’ve been with me; other …  _things_  have not been so affected.’  
  
‘I don’t mind your looks. Sure, it takes some getting used to,’ Hermione admitted. ‘But I’ve been here for quite a while now, so…’ she shrugged.   
  
He stroked the side of her face. ‘Then, why are you covering yourself up right now?’  
  
‘I am scared.’  
  
‘You’ve been with me before.’  
  
‘Perhaps that’s why I am scared.’  
  
He grinned. ‘Touché,’ he acknowledged. He patted on her knees. ‘Spread them,’ he ordered.  
  
He saw the reluctance and fear in her gestures as she slowly complied, avoiding his eyes. ‘It won’t be as painful as the first time,’ he explained reassuring. ‘You already gave yourself to me, so I won’t need to be quite as … rough.’  
  
Hermione looked up, frowning.   
  
‘Oh yes, my dear. What happened in that nightmare was very real; surely, you felt it inside when you woke?’   
  
‘You broke every bone in my body. I was sick as hell from all the Nightmare-Diluting Potion they gave me, and you expect me to remember feeling that,’ she replied sarcastically.   
  
A smug grin appeared on his face. ‘I am glad I made a lasting impression on you, Hermione,’ he said, moving between her legs. ‘Disrobe me.’   
  
Her hands trembled slightly as she unbuttoned his robe and moved forward to lift it over his shoulders and head. He helped her when necessary, but mostly he just watched her face while she touched him carefully. Her hands were incredibly soft. She hesitated when she’d arrived at his underwear. ‘Tear away,’ he suggested, smirking.   
  
Hermione blushed. He thought she looked extremely cute in that colour. He’d have to make sure to see it again.  
  
His boxers ended up in torn rags on the floor.  _Not too shy after all._  
  
But his smirk expended most when he noticed her eyes were studiously looking at his other wand, the one attached to the base of his arm. His ego, which didn’t need any more inflating at all, grew when he came to the conclusion she’d felt less intimidated to watch it than his cock. Considering he did far more damage to others with his yew wand, it definitely made him happy in the whole male lets-be-overly-sensitive-and-obsessive-about-the-size-of-our-equipment department. Not that he worried about that, don’t be foolish. He knew he was the biggest of all. Anyone who dared to claim otherwise would soon find out the wonderful joys of having a Permanent Shrinking Charm cast on their appendages. And when he said permanent, he meant permanent.   
  
‘How do you get it to stay attached to your arm like that?’ Hermione inquired curiously, lifting his arm to get a good look at his wand from all sides.  
  
The vicious pin she’d stuck into his happy bubble of important self-grandeur made him scowl.   
  
Silently, he withdrew his arm from her hands, gazing at her intently. ‘Not the wand I want your attention to be on, right now,’ he said in a quiet commanding tone, holding her face gently in the palm of his hand.  
  
Her eyes darted down and her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson than before. He leaned forward, tilted her face slightly and kissed her long and deep again. It felt like he was trying to pull her into him. The gravitational force accompanying his kisses was irresistible. Her hands moved to him, but she withdrew them hesitantly before she touched him, not sure he would welcome the initiative.   
  
Still kissing her, his other hand came to rest on her shoulder. Slowly, his fingers massaged her muscles there, until he moved both hands along the line of her arms to her wrists. He lifted her arms and placed her hands on top of his shoulders, moving them down over his chest, across his nipples, crossing his stomach, the little wrinkles of the skin in his belly, until he reached the place he most wanted her to touch and hold. Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss, since he wanted to see her expression while she held him. He guided her soft hands over his hardened flesh, watching the string of thoughts and emotions fly by over her face.   
  
He let go of her hands and took a hold of her face again, though with both hands this time. ‘Such an immaculate purity you have; a virtuous openness, which is as unspoilt and undefiled as it is tasty. It will be my pleasure to devour you, Hermione.’  
  
He sealed his words with another kiss. His hands moved down; long fingers traced every inch of her skin, touching her neckline, the hollow of her throat, over her collarbones, her breasts, her nipples, to her stomach, the curves of her belly, investigating her belly button, ending at her hips. His fingers dug deep into her flesh and she let out a gasp when he lifted her and pulled her down to a lying position. She’d squeezed him slightly and he shuddered.   
  
Against his better judgement, for he really liked the feel of her holding him, he moved her hands above her head. He would have plenty of time to have her make him happy at another occasion; right now, he had someone to draw in, to make her his, to make her want him more than anything else in life ever again. When she went to the Weasleys two days from now, she had to know what she was missing every second of every hour of every single day.   
  
Quickly moving on top of her, he grinned when she closed her eyes to the wonderment of having his naked body touch hers without any boundaries. ‘And devour you, I will,’ he added naughtily, right before his mouth, tongue and hands began exploring every part of her.   
  
Pretty soon, she thrashed violently underneath him. Her arms tossed all the pillows to the ground, trying to find something to hold onto and failing miserably. ‘How are you doing, dear?’ he taunted, looking up from her breast at her deliciously distraught expression. He caught her eyes and sucked her nipple again. She threw her head back and yelled, ripping the sheet underneath her to shreds.   
  
His laugh rolled around her, sucked her under even further, until she felt she would never resurface again. ‘Incarcerous,’ she heard him whisper against her skin.   
  
A pair of ropes flew around her wrists, spreading her arms wide, as they flung around the bedposts and tied her to it.  _Finally, something to hold onto._  
  
Her fingers clutched around the thick cord desperately; grabbing a firm hold of it, as if it would make the immense pleasure she was experiencing more tolerable. Unable to stay still during his teasing caresses, the meticulous concentration he exhibited to make sure no part of her remained unattended, she continued to buck and thrash around for as far as he allowed her to. He’d use his body weight or magic to hold those parts of her motionless he was stimulating, and it drove her up the wall.   
  
He pointed his wand casually over his shoulder and her legs became tied up in a similar method as her arms were. Her hip-joints stretched in a painful extension; his hands leaned heavily on the ridge of the hipbones on either side; so, she whimpered softly. Until his mouth started working lower and lower and lower, and those whimpers became desperate yells of resignation. With his lips and tongue, he brought her again and again and again, until she felt her head was going to explode and she could take no more.   
  
Yet, after every single climax he gave her, she felt her body turn wanton again – it was like nothing could satisfy it at all when Lord Voldemort turned up the heat again. She writhed within the restrictions of her bounds. Her heart raced for as fast as it could, trying to keep up with the body’s need of transporting oxygen and carbon dioxide around, while her arousal reached new unimaginable heights.   
  
‘Please, please, please, please,’ she begged.   
  
He sucked that sensitive spot thoroughly and looked up. ‘Please?’ he asked, tilting his head in fake thoughtfulness as if he was truly considering the request.   
  
Hermione groaned hopelessly upon seeing the expression on his face.   
  
‘Now, now, my dear,’ he said admonishingly. ‘Be a bit more precise with your requests, will you? Please doesn’t tell me a thing.’   
  
He grinned, and continued licking and sucking her wickedly.   
  
‘Oh fuck!’ she cursed, arching her back in a tense bow.  
  
‘Is that what you want?’ he breathed against her pink flesh, making her shudder, while her walls clenched and unclenched at that aching nothingness again.   
  
‘Oh for Salazar’s sake, yes! YES!’ she yelled.   
  
‘Ermmm, interesting choice of Founder to call upon. You wouldn’t be trying to …  _manipulate_  Lord Voldemort into doing what you want, now would you, Hermione?’ He said, placing a finger against his lips, while watching the ceiling thoughtfully. ‘Answer me,’ he added, looking at her threateningly, before he continued tormenting her.  
  
A stream of not so eloquent words left her lips.  
  
‘Why, I don’t feel very inclined to honour such impolite and rude language with a reward,’ he remarked casually.  
  
Hermione slumped back on the bed, defeated. She couldn’t take anymore. She was exhausted. It was too much, too much pleasure, too much delight, too much ecstasy. She needed a release, a climax, a whatever. She needed this to end. Merlin, he was trying to kill her through sex. Didn’t the man know she wasn’t an athlete?   
  
‘What?’ Voldemort teased, coming into view above her face. ‘You didn’t waste your time racing around on some silly stick chasing after some moronic ball to entertain idiotic others by getting your skull battered in by yet another insane invention called a Bludger? I am duly disappointed,’ he added ironically, rolling on his side next to her; her arm was underneath his armpit, while he leaned his elbow in the mattress and rested his head on his hand.   
  
Hermione sighed. She wasn’t dignifying that with a reply; chances were high he’d use it as an excuse to continue. He was having far too much fun. See, there, that blasted smirk was proof enough to the correctness of her statement.  
  
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ he clicked disapprovingly with his tongue, while stroking her stomach with the hand not supporting his head. ‘If I need any excuse to continue, not that I need one, but purely hypothetical speaking, I’d use your lacking Occlumency skills right now.’  
  
 _Oh you got to be kidding me._  
  
He sniggered. ‘Perhaps I have finally found something to motivate you into trying harder?’   
  
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth on hers, kissing her thoroughly, while his hand traced her breast, her side, her hip, the outskirt of her thigh, the inside of her thigh; going up, his fingers moved between her folds. Her body made an involuntary twist, while Hermione moaned against his lips. Her legs jerked as his finger found that spot again. Her desperate little whimper vibrated into his mouth. He raised his head slightly, looking down into her deep brown eyes.  
  
‘Please,’ Hermione whispered. ‘No more, please. Just fuck me, please.’  
  
Silently, he watched her. She really was clever. Somehow, be it instinctive or deductive, she’d come to the rightful conclusion true intercourse was the only way to get rid of her condition. She was about to add another please when he placed his finger on her mouth. This vulnerability was what he’d been waiting for. Her path was waiting for her, but yet she failed to notice it and come to a decision. He wasn’t going to allow her to beat around the bush anymore. Her rightful place was what he needed her to acknowledge before she left; before Albus Dumbledore had a chance to get his thoughts about everything inside her head and ruin her destiny.   
  
‘Tell me the truth, Hermione,’ he demanded.   
  
She frowned.  _What truth?_  
  
‘Why are you really here?’   
  
Her frown deepened.  _What was he getting at? She was here, because the Keepers of the World’s Craziest and Most Dimwittedly Ideas thought it was a sane choice to make her an apprentice to him._  
  
‘Why me?’  
  
 _Okay, he lost her. She didn’t understand the first thing of this line of questioning._  
  
‘Yes, you do. I’ve seen your memories; you’ve had plenty of opportunities to lose your virginity to another, yet you picked me.’ He tilted his head, amused severely by this.  
  
‘I was dying,’ she said, exasperated.   
  
‘If you don’t want to be honest with me, I can understand that; but to lie to yourself is pretty stupid, Hermione. It won’t ever get you where you want to be.’ He rolled to the edge of the bed and rose, knowing perfectly well what the absence of his magic would do to her.   
  
‘Eh! Where are you going!?’ she yelled, wide-eyed.  _For crying out loud, like there wasn’t some unfinished business to attend to right here on this bed, as in Her unfinished business._  
  
‘My time is too precious to waste on stupidity,’ he replied haughtily, swishing his wand around. His robes flew back over his head and he turned away.  
  
She gaped. He couldn’t leave her like this, could he? She narrowed her eyes. That-that would be … evil. Yeah, really evil.   
  
 _Duh, Lord Voldemort, Granger._  
  
Crap! If only she knew what he wanted to hear. Think, Granger, think. ‘It isn’t like I am really lying to myself,’ she grumbled underneath her breath.   
  
Abruptly, he swirled toward her, halting with his hands on either side of her face, towering over her. She pressed her body back into the mattress in shock. ‘Viktor Krum,’ he whispered against her lips, staring straight into her eyes.   
  
She froze.   
  
Disbelievingly, she stared back. Oh no, he couldn’t have seen that, could he? She was sure she hadn’t thought of that during any of their sessions the last days. She’d kicked him out just on time with her Shield Charm. She’d kicked him out. The pounding of her heart increased significantly. His facial expression turned more and more condescending by the second, increasing her worries that he had, somehow, seen what she hadn’t wanted anyone to ever see. His smirk grew, and those damn red slit-pupil eyes were definitely sparkling at her expense. She just knew his mind was making fun of her. He was very, very lucky she was tied up right now, otherwise he’d find out what it felt like to get hit right on top of your non-existing nose.   
  
‘Why me, Hermione?’ he repeated softly. ‘What was wrong with …  _Vicky_?’ he smirked.  
  
She didn’t see that his hand in the mattress held his wand now, nor did she notice the non-verbally cast Stage Three Legilimency spell, which impacted on her mind forcefully. All she saw was red, and then, the world swirled and she was fifteen, running through Hogwarts joyfully.  
  
Giggling, she pulled Viktor along the corridors at Hogwarts.   
  
‘Herm-one-ieie, Herm-own-ninny, where are we going?’ Krum asked, confused.  
  
‘Nearly there,’ she said, looking back over her shoulder, exited.   
  
She whipped her wand at the painting and a passageway opened, leading into a long abandoned corridor. Really, if she had to wait for Ron to be able to identify her as a girl, she’d be dead and buried before she got anywhere. She was done waiting around for him to pull his thick head out of his stupid arse and see what was right in front of him – picking one of the Patils over her. Merlin, she’d never been more pissed than when she heard whom he was taking to the Yule Ball. No matter if she’d said yes to Viktor Krum long before that information became a reality.   
  
Well, she was young; she had needs, too. She’d said no to Fred’s secretly put invites quite enough times to earn her a fucking shining gold fidelity medal. She was going to take to heart her own advice from now on - the advice she gave Ginny about changing her behaviour around Harry, so he would stop seeing her as Ron’s little, shy, and somewhat silly sister. Yes, Hermione was going to do something similar to that. If Ron didn’t see her, she wasn’t noticing him or feeling obliged to him anymore either. Hermione pushed Viktor up against the wall and kissed him, while the passageway closed.   
  
‘Mi-ommmee,’ he mumbled, unable to get a word in.   
  
She pulled away from his surprised lips. ‘Let’s do it,’ she suggested, twirling around recklessly.   
  
‘Here?’ Viktor asked, glancing around doubtfully.  
  
‘Sure, why not?’ she asked, putting her hands in her sides bossily.  
  
‘What if someone else comes along?’  
  
‘Then, they need to find another spot to make out,’ she giggled. ‘This one is taken.’   
  
‘Oh, er – okay,’ Viktor said hesitantly. He began fiddling on his tie, while Hermione kicked of her shoes. ‘I-I, erm…’  
  
Seeing his clumsy attempts to undo his tie, Hermione whipped out her wand. ‘Relashio!’   
  
Sparks burst from her wand; Viktor’s tie fell from his startled hands onto the ground. ‘Oh,’ he uttered again, baffled.   
  
She tossed her wand away with a flourish and walked to him. ‘I need some help, too,’ she said, turning around.   
  
She felt his hands take a hold of her dress and fidget with the zipper. After a while, Hermione’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. Merlin’s pants, it was just a zipper; leave it up to a wizard not to know how to operate one. Boys.   
  
‘It seems to be stuck,’ Viktor said apologetically. ‘Is it okay if I use magic?’   
  
Hermione groaned. Is it okay? Please, grow a pair and act. ‘Sure,’ she replied impatiently.   
  
‘Really?’ Viktor repeated.   
  
For goodness’s sake, she’d said yes already. ‘Yes, really,’ she replied; this time she was unable to leave all traces of sarcasm completely out of the tone of her voice.   
  
She felt the movement of her dress as the zipper opened upon the impact of Viktor’s charm. At last the stupid wizard was done with the incomprehensible task of undoing a zipper. She turned around to look at him. His hands wavered back and forth. He obviously wanted to touch her, but wasn’t sure it was okay. Hermione sighed. Merlin, wasn’t he supposed to be off age already?   
  
She pulled the dress over her head and tossed it next to her wand and shoes. Perhaps that would make him realise she was serious. Viktor gawked at her. His eyes seemed to fixate on her bra, or more likely, on what was in there. Okay, enough with the gawking, start doing something. Geezzz, did she really have to make ALL the moves?   
  
She stepped toward him when he suddenly spoke. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Hair-mee-owney, I-I-I,’ he stuttered. ‘I know I am older and I don’t want you to feel pressured and my mother always said I shouldn’t abuse my Quidditch popularity to get girls, but I really like you and I want you, but I don’t want to hurt you and make you feel taken advantage off in any way, so if-’  
  
‘Oh forget it,’ she snarled. Turned off completely by his idiotic babbling and lack of initiative, she swirled around abruptly.   
  
‘Herm-oiw-ee?’ Viktor questioned, stunned at the sudden change in mood.  
  
She grabbed her dress and wand, while stepping into her shoes. With a flick, she was presentable again. Another flick and the secret door opened, she paced away without another word and without looking back.  
  
‘Hermy-own, Hermy-own!’ she heard him shout behind her. His hand fell on her arm and he turned her around. ‘Was it something I said? Did I hurt your feelings?’  
  
Quietly, she looked at the hand on her arm.  
  
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said, retracting his hand immediately. ‘I didn’t mean to manhandle you like that.’  
  
‘Manhandle?’ she said snorting.  _He thought grabbing her arm was manhandling? Oh boy, did she pick the wrong wizard tonight. Fred would have been the better choice after all._  
  
‘Yes, I am sorry; you’re not supposed to use force on another. I never treat women like that,’ Viktor said certain.   
  
 _Great, everyone’s knight in shining armour; was there a bucket lying around somewhere? She felt the need to vomit._  
  
Hermione stepped toward him, invading his space, while she looked up condescendingly. ‘What if the woman in question liked a bit more force?’   
  
Viktor gaped at her. ‘No, no,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No woman wants to be treated like that.’  
  
 _Really, she thought an international Quidditch Champion would have had more experience and certainly a more open-minded view on the world._  
  
‘Oh, so now you’re saying I am not a woman,’ Hermione snarled.  _Eh, if she wasn’t getting any, there were always other ways to have some fun. Many years she’d watched her mother operate this technique to perfection during discussions with her father; Hermione found it was relatively easy to copy._  
  
‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ Viktor replied desperately, trying to make it alright. ‘I-I’   
  
‘Then, what did you mean?’ she asked viciously, putting her hands in her sides. ‘Cause it sure sounded like you were implying I am not.’  
  
Viktor’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.  
  
‘Well? I am waiting,’ she taunted.  
  
‘I apologise, I shouldn’t have asked you out. I knew it was wrong, because I am so much older; but I really, really like you, Hermione. I am so sorry.’  
  
‘Me too,’ she snapped. Turning on her heels and leaving him standing there alone, she moved around the corner.  _What a complete and utter waste of her time, even if he finally did pronounce her name correctly._  
  
‘What’s put that sour look on your face, Granger, wasn’t Krum a true gentleman?’ Draco sneered tauntingly.   
  
Hanging on Draco’s arm, Pansy giggled loudly. Some of the others snorted or giggled slightly less telling. Hermione passed the posse of Slytherins quickly. It wasn’t good to be near so many tempting targets when she felt as aggravated as she did right now.   
  
‘Did he grab a feel?’ Draco added smirking.  
  
She halted abruptly and turned her head to face him. His grey eyes darted nervously to her wand-hand, and he suddenly wasn’t as vocal as before.   
  
‘I’d watch my nose if I were you, ferret; someone might break it again when you least expect it,’ Hermione spat, moving to the staircase quickly before she wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. She was certain Professor Snape would appear out of thin air if she hexed his precious students into oblivion.   
  
‘Eh Viktor! Why don’t you come with us, so you can have some real fun?’ Draco said loudly.   
  
It was clearly meant more for her ears as Viktor’s. And let’s face it, she’d earned Gryffindor enough points over the years; no one could nag to her about losing them a bunch tonight. She pulled out her wand, turned, and, of course…  
  
‘Miss Granger,’ a disgustingly familiar silky voice spoke smoothly. ‘Why is your wand in your hand?’  
  
She sighed, wondering whether she could hex Malfoy before Snape had a chance to act – probably not.  _Merlin, why did the only one around here who might have some balls happen to be the one person oblivious to hair care hygiene? He taught Potions for crying out loud._  
  
She blinked, coming out of the memory shaking and feverishly. The good news was it had completely pushed aside her raging hormones and her desire to have intercourse. The bad news was she felt like shit now. A pair of red eyes watched her intensely, while his body hovered above her. It didn’t spark any of the debilitating emotions back into action again. Thank Merlin.  
  
‘So, can you acknowledge the real reason behind being here with me now?’ Voldemort asked quietly.  
  
‘You have no right to snoop around my mind like that,’ Hermione hissed angrily.  
  
He smirked. ‘Whether I have the right to or not really is irrelevant, I can therefore I will. If it bothers you, I suggest you learn to occlude me fully, because Hermione,’ he promised to her lips, darkly, ‘I won’t stop – no matter how hard you may beg me to.’  
  
His domineering threats stirred her stomach into another flutter. An intense kiss followed. It was nice, well, pretty darn amazing; but it didn’t make her want to rip off his robe to let him have his wicked ways with her. Thank Merlin indeed, for it seemed her hormones had returned back to normal levels. She could think again. Of course being able to think again, meant she immediately was aware of the vulnerable (naked and tied up) position she was in. Her face as well as several other parts of her anatomy turned red in embarrassment, but Voldemort either didn’t notice or didn’t feel the need to comment on it, for he continued inquiring about the motives behind her actions.   
  
‘So, answer my question, Hermione. Admit the truth to yourself why you slept with me in that nightmare, because we both know fear of death was not the only thing that motivated you. Tell me why you turned down Krum and all the others who ever tried to get close to you, and I will make it worth your while.’  
  
She bit her lip, flinching under that intense gaze. She looked down. She couldn’t say it out loud. If she said it, it would mean it was true. If she didn’t say it, at least she could deny it. Because it wasn’t true, she didn’t… she didn’t want to have sex with Tom Marvolo Riddle. She only did it to stay alive. That was all, nothing else. Turning down Krum, because he was such an incredible wimp, had nothing to do with her nightmare – nothing at all. They were two totally unrelated incidents.   
  
His hand stroked through her hair. She didn’t look up.   
  
He sighed. ‘The only one you hurt by denying the very nature of what you are is you, Hermione.’  
  
 _God, was she really that pathetic? When had she become such a chicken shit that she couldn’t admit the truth to herself?_  
  
‘He-he was a wuss,’ Hermione whispered hoarsely.   
  
‘Yes, I noticed,’ Voldemort said calmly.   
  
‘I had to leave; otherwise I would have hexed him.’  
  
‘Well, after all that despicable nagging…,’ he shrugged, ‘you’d have been entitled.’  
  
‘It’s not his fault he is not-not-’  
  
‘-dominant enough for you,’ Voldemort finished for her, but he didn’t stop there. ‘Nor was he charming, intelligent, all-powerful, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, not to mention he didn’t have an-’  
  
‘-overly bloated ego,’ Hermione added, glaring.   
  
‘Ah, I knew you’d confirm I am the one you really want,’ he said, unruffled.   
  
Hermione groaned.  _Did he have to twist every word she said to his advantage?_  
  
‘Think about it, dear,’ he breathed against her neck.   
  
A shiver ran down her spine. His tongue tracked the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat. He added teeth when he moved up on the other way side, tracing her carotid artery, causing her to be very aware of her current defencelessness. Her heart began pounding in her chest, pushing her blood around faster and faster, making her even more at risk if he were to bite down.   
  
 _‘I am your little masochistic dream come true,’_  he said against her skin in a low voice. He nibbled gently on her earlobe. It tickled, making her jerk in her bounds.  _‘You know this.’_  He bit down abruptly. She gasped, shocked, not so much from the sudden onset of a little bit of pain, but what it did to her. The excitement it caused her to feel.  _‘It’s why you allowed yourself to sleep with your enemy in your dream and enjoy it.’_  He sucked the wound he made, making her writhe more.  _‘But you can take it further.’_  A need rose inside; a need even more overwhelming than before, as if it had waited and been denied for so long it had accumulated all previous refusals to gain satisfaction into one huge throbbing demanding ache that would not abandon her unfulfilled again.  _‘You don’t need to keep dreaming; I am right here.’_  His wand made a small move and his clothes were gone again. Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted him inside of her; she’d never desired anything more in her life. It felt like she would die if this-this longing wasn’t consummated.  _‘You’ll never find someone more controlling or domineering than me,’_  he whispered to her lips.   
  
Truer words had never been spoken.   
  
He put more pressure on her hips with his when he lifted his chest, leaning solely on one hand and the lower part of his body. He held her down, while the hand he wasn’t using for support began running small circles over her skin.  _‘You’ll never find someone more powerful,’_ he added, massaging her breast.  _‘Someone capable of giving you exactly what you need.’_ Roughly, he pinched her nipple. She let out a scream; her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her back arched as far as it could.  _‘With your capabilities, Hermione, I’d say you’d be hard pressed to find another to fulfil your desires completely once you have grown into your magic,’_  he said, watching her face intensely. Panting heavily, she stared back into those crimson eyes. She knew he was right, but he was her enemy. He was her friends’ enemy. This would change everything. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, she shouldn’t…  
  
He kissed her, harshly, demanding her full attention and complete surrender. It was too much. His words to her ears, her raging hormones heightened due to his touches, her body’s violent reactions to his dark magic, the gravitational pull it had on her magic, she felt it growing around her, consuming her, drawing her more and more to him. It should frighten her, but it didn’t. There was no light without darkness; one did not exclude the other; both paths remained available. For some reason, she knew this. For some reason, she had always known this day would come. For some reason, she handed her life, her destiny, her future in Lord Voldemort’s hands and she let go of every inch of control she’d held onto.   
  
His kiss… Merlin, his kiss… It became their kiss when she moaned, and she returned his attention with the heartfelt passion only a long suppressed yearning could grant. She could feel his magic swirling down inside of her, connecting with that dark bit she’d always known was in her. It had never worried her like Harry kept on worrying about his. Somehow, she knew it belonged to her. It was who she was. It was home.   
  
The triumph he felt, when she simply allowed his invasive attack instead of resisting it, thrummed against her skin; but there were only so many things she could consider simultaneously. His triumph wasn’t one of them; it wasn’t even listed in her top ten. Right now all she wanted were his lips on her mouth, his hands on her body, and all of him inside of her, pushing her over that antagonising cliff and into that dark abyss she had to explore.   
  
Lord Voldemort complied with her wishes.  
  
-


	17. Chapter 17

**  
  
Chapter Seventeen**  
  
The world swirled. It swirled. Hermione felt herself falling - falling long, deep, faster and faster into that dark well which gained no light, ever. It crowded her, consumed her, overtook her, until everything was black and all was silent.   
  
All was silent, dead silent.   
  
‘Will you look at this mess?’ A shrill voice chimed in. ‘Some people think they can fall from the sky wherever they feel like it, and it won’t matter to anyone where they land. EH! You, lying in my House there!’ A stick poked her in the ribs. ‘Leave, unless you belong, this is my spot.’  
  
Hermione opened her eyes. A huge badger glared down at her, poking her in the ribs again with the stick it was holding. ‘Now, what are you waiting for? Can I get an answer already?’  
  
‘I think I fell again,’ she whispered, frowning.  _What had happened to her now? She’d been fucking Lord Voldemort, and then, everything had started swirling; she had fallen - fallen long and hard. She remembered that much._  
  
‘And…?’ the badger said, tapping its foot impatiently.   
  
‘Am I dead?’  
  
‘Of course not, why should one die merely from falling?’   
  
‘You just said I fell from the sky.’  
  
‘So?’ the badger shrugged.  
  
Hermione glared at the badger. ‘Well, that’s high.’  
  
‘High or not, you’ve landed on my House. I don’t take dead people. Gotta have some standards,’ the badger grumbled.  
  
‘You are just as bad as him.’  
  
‘Who?’  
  
She frowned. ‘I don’t know.’  
  
‘Typical, typical,’ the badger said, waving its fist in the air agitated. ‘Leave it up to them to dump their trash on my front-door; like I have nothing better to do than take their leftovers.’  
  
‘I am not trash,’ Hermione said, glaring. She sat up. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to have any injuries, even though she had landed in a pile of hard wooden branches. Water flowed on either side of the dam she sat on. She looked up at the huge badger. ‘Can you help me?’  
  
‘With what?’  
  
‘Can you tell me where I am?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘Which is…?’ Hermione asked, urging the badger on with her hands.  
  
‘On top of my House,’ it said.   
  
Hermione groaned.   
  
‘Everyone has their place,’ an eagle said, flapping its wings as it landed on the shore.   
  
‘Can you tell me where mine is?’ asked Hermione, looking from the newly arrived eagle to the impatient badger.   
  
‘She landed in yours,’ the eagle said to the badger.   
  
‘She came from the sky,’ the badger retorted to the eagle.  
  
‘True,’ the eagle said, looking at Hermione with a sigh. ‘I suppose she could fit, but she doesn’t seem able to fly.’ The eagle walked around Hermione, plucking at the clothes on her back. ‘See, no wings at all. I think she’s yours,’ the eagle stated, nodding its head to the badger in affirmation of that statement.  
  
The badger examined Hermione thoroughly, walking around her and looking her up and down with intense scrutiny. ‘This could be your place,’ it finally decided, grudgingly.   
  
‘No, I don’t think it is,’ Hermione replied doubtfully.   
  
‘If it isn’t, you need to leave,’ the badger said, irritated.  
  
‘But where do I go?’  
  
‘Would answering that get you off of my roof?’ the badger asked.   
  
‘Maybe,’ Hermione responded crafty.  
  
‘Move then,’ it said.  
  
‘Do we have a deal?’  
  
‘Yeah, yeah, now shoo - shoo.’  
  
Hermione moved.   
  
The badger sighed, pulled a stack of wood from his backpack and began making repairs. ‘Home sweet home,’ it muttered when it was ready.   
  
Hermione folded her arms over each other and waited. ‘Well?’ she finally demanded.   
  
The badger looked up from the teapot it had pulled out of the branches.   
  
‘You did promise,’ the eagle reminded.  
  
‘Guess I did,’ the badger conceded. ‘You look like a forest-girl to me.’  
  
‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, relieved she knew where to go.  
  
‘You’re welcome.’   
  
She walked to the trees, accompanied by the waggling eagle. ‘Do you belong in the forest, too?’ she asked.  
  
‘No, I belong in the sky.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Hermione said, disappointed. She liked the eagle.  
  
‘I fly over the forest. It’s a kind of belonging, so you could come with me; it’s your choice,’ the eagle said, sounding hopefully.  
  
Hermione shivered, remembering her fear of heights. ‘No thank you. I prefer solid ground.’  
  
‘It’s your choice,’ the eagle repeated, spreading its wings. ‘Look for the lions and avoid the snakes!’  
  
‘Why?’ shouted Hermione.  
  
‘Snakes are tricky!’ the eagle replied, disappearing into the clouds. ‘They never give you a straightforward reply.’  
  
‘Yeah, because everyone else here does,’ Hermione grumbled, moving into the forest.   
  
She walked a long time without seeing anything or anyone of interest. Finally, she stopped in a clearing and decided to rest on a large fallen tree trunk at the rim of it.   
  
‘Well, hello there,’ a voice hissed smoothly. A long body uncoiled from a branch above her, until a pair of yellow eyes were on eyelevel with hers. ‘What do we have here?’  
  
A forked tongue rapidly touched her nose. Shocked by the sudden move, Hermione backed away and tumbled of the trunk, her legs sticking in the air.   
  
‘Mmmm, not very graceful and a too muddy smell (though that could be badger’s fault – its odour sticks around long); but I do taste deviousness, definitely cunning enough, oh … very ambitious, very ambitious indeed,’ the snake hissed, rocking back and forth pleased.  
  
Hermione scrambled to her feet, covered in leaves and twigs. She attempted to brush of her clothes, but it only ruined them more. The snake laughed exuberantly, swinging on the tree. ‘You really are a lady, aren’t you?’   
  
Hermione’s head snapped up. ‘Do you want me to tie you to that branch?’ she said, threateningly.   
  
The snake’s head backed away, shocked. Its body stilled instantaneously. ‘You dare to threaten me, little girl?’ it hissed quietly, showing of its fangs.  
  
‘Is that supposed to be intimidating?’   
  
‘Ugh, another brave one,’ the snake snarled, disgusted. ‘I despise lions. Do move along.’  
  
It curled its long body back up the tree immediately.   
  
‘Wait a second,’ Hermione said, looking upward. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’  
  
The snake ignored her.  
  
‘Where can I find the lion?’ she asked again, remembering the eagle’s warning about tricky snakes.  
  
Loud growls sounded through the woods and thundering footsteps closed in on her location.  
  
‘Oh great, now it comes here. Why couldn’t you just move along as you were supposed to?’ the snake hissed, annoyed.  
  
‘Snake!’ a voice boomed before the bushes twisted and a huge hairy body jumped through. ‘Snake,’ the lion said, looking around the grounds searchingly. ‘We have a problem.’   
  
‘You always have problems,’ the snake hissed from above.   
  
‘Eagle is attacking,’ the lion said, looking up at the snake.  
  
Shocked, the snake dropped from the tree. ‘Move,’ it said to Hermione.   
  
Hermione jumped to the side and the snake slithered underneath the huge trunk. ‘Thanks for the warning,’ the snake spoke in a hollow echo that called around them.  
  
‘Eh, I need your help,’ the lion said furiously.  
  
‘Ask the girl, she is like you.’  
  
‘Really?’ the lion asked, turning its huge head to Hermione hopefully. ‘You’d help me in battle?’  
  
Hermione frowned. ‘Maybe; why is there a battle?’  
  
‘There always is with eagle, but in battle we prove our worth.’  
  
The snake snorted disparaging underneath the trunk.  
  
‘So you’ll come with me, courageous little one?’  
  
‘More like brainless,’ the snake corrected, sniggering.  
  
‘I didn’t ask your opinion, snake,’ the lion growled. ‘Bravery is the highest quality to strive at.’  
  
‘But why is there a battle?’ Hermione inquired, confused. ‘The eagle seemed nice.’  
  
‘NICE!’ the lion roared.  
  
‘Oh now you did it,’ the snake said underneath its breath.   
  
‘Nice! You cannot be one of mine, calling eagles nice. HAH!’ The lion stormed away.   
  
Hermione blinked, dumbfounded. ‘What did I say wrong?’   
  
The snake’s head popped back up. It looked at her through the leaves surrounding the large tree trunk. ‘You said eagles are nice,’ it said, as if that explained it all.  
  
‘So?’ Hermione said, throwing her hands to the air.  
  
‘Saying eagle is nice, is like saying badger is lazy.’  
  
‘Eagle was nice to me.’  
  
‘Really?’ the snake’s head moved up and down, investigating her with interest. ‘Oh I see. Yes, yes, yes, eagle would like that. I’d avoid eagle if I were you. It’s not good to be near eagle with those qualities. Yes, yes, yes, well, if lion won’t have you, I suppose there is room here to hide. It’s much better for one’s health to avoid eagle altogether. Do come along.’ It slithered back under the trunk fully.  
  
She so was not crawling under there. Did it think she was mental? She’d never get out on time if it attacked her. ‘Eagle said snakes are tricky,’ Hermione said, smirking, folding her arms over each other.   
  
She was not disappointed. It didn’t wait for her to come under the trunk. The snake swirled out from under the tree, halting a few inches in front of her face. ‘Eagle said, eagle said,’ it repeated mockingly, waving its body back and forth. ‘Do you take everything eagles say at face value?’  
  
‘You appear tricky enough to me,’ Hermione retorted. ‘And eagle seemed wise.’  
  
‘Wise? Well, that only shows how much you know. Don’t they teach you kids anything anymore? Wise,’ the snake snarled and shook his head. ‘The standards have surely dropped rapidly since I left.’  
  
‘Why don’t you just get along with each other?’ asked Hermione, confused.  
  
‘Now that’s a badger statement if ever I heard any,’ the snake hissed, disapprovingly. ‘Did you land here head first? Me, getting along with eagles and lions, ha!’   
  
It slithered away. A load roaring sounded in the distance. Something clashed violently. The air shook with thunder; the ground trembled. Snake looked back at her haughtily. ‘Yes, let’s all get along,’ it sneered, laughing. ‘Don’t forget to take wood with you on your way back,’ the snake added sarcastically, and crept back under the trunk. ‘Badger hates idleness. Friends forever, pfffttt… maniacs, the lot of them, maniacs and morons. I like my quiet little place. Who needs friends?’  
  
Dazed, Hermione walked back. Badger had said she belonged in the forest. But snake and lion seemed to disagree. And eagle liked the sky; she hated heights, really hated heights. Before she knew it, she was back where she started.   
  
‘What, you again?’ badger asked, annoyed.   
  
‘Snake said I should go back.’  
  
‘Where is your wood?’  
  
‘Uh, wood? Oh, I forgot. Why are you all fighti-’  
  
‘YOU FORGOT!’ badger blew up in her face. ‘Laziness, laziness, I can’t have lazy people.’  
  
‘I am not lazy,’ Hermione objected. ‘I work hard. I just-just forgot, because of all the fighting and…’   
  
But badger had turned away from her and was packing its bag, mumbling aggravated. ‘I always have to do everything myself. Don’t they know that my dam is keeping the forest alive? The least they could do is let them bring wood, but  _nooooo…_  badger will solve it. Badger will do all the work. Badger will pick up all the slack they are too lazy to accomplish. Well, badger is sick of them. All of them. Perhaps badger will let the dam break. Yes, that sounds nice. No more lions and snakes around. No more people falling from the sky. No more disturbances from eagle. Just badger and her tea.’ It tossed in its teapot and cup last, swung its backpack around, and pushed Hermione to the side. ‘You have no business here. Go home, little girl.’   
  
It paced away, halted in the centre of the grass field, threw a cloth around and sat down to have tea. Hermione just stood there, not knowing what to do anymore. Feathers rustled behind her and a small cough sounded. Hermione turned around and saw eagle again. It tilted its head and held out its paw. ‘You may not have wings, but I can carry you,’ the eagle offered.   
  
‘Why did you attack lion?’  
  
The eagle sighed. ‘It’s important for lion to have a fight every now and then. Surely, you know that?’  
  
‘No,’ Hermione said, disagreeing firmly.   
  
‘Well, I’ll show you, just take my paw, and I’ll show you all the knowledge of the world. You have no idea what you are missing. Everything is so clear when you are up there.’ The eagle pointed its wing to the sky, while wiggling its paw to Hermione.   
  
Hermione stared at the offered paw and took a step back. Heights were still not her favourite thing. Besides… ‘How can I trust any of you if you’re all fighting?’   
  
‘Oh we are not fighting, silly. We have disagreements, but we are not fighting. Now, take my paw.’  
  
Hermione took another step back.  
  
‘TAKE MY PAW!’ eagle yelled furiously.   
  
Hermione ran. Eagle flew up and chased her. Claws outstretched, it dove to her. Hermione ducked and covered her head with her arms. A clash sounded above her, followed by loud growling and screeching. Hermione looked up and saw eagle and lion rolling across the grass, fighting with their beak, paws, and mouth. Feathers and fur flew around violently, while badger sipped her tea calmly.   
  
‘Forgot your wood, didn’t you?’ snake hissed angrily, dumping a pile right behind her. ‘I told you to bring wood, but do they ever listen to me? NO! You’d think they know not to upset badger. You’d think they realise the importance of badger’s work. You’d think they’d do everything to prevent a badger tea-brake; but  _nooooo…_  let’s have snake solve everything. Snake can fix all their stupidity.’ It began sorting the wood and flicked it to the dam with an irritated wave of its tail.   
  
Absolutely flabbergasted, Hermione hit her head on the ground. She was going mental for sure.   
  
‘Stupid badger and her irresponsible tea-brakes,’ snake muttered. ‘Next time they send us another idiot who doesn’t know their path, lion can do the work. I am done playing mule over and over again, because of clueless individuals. I am a snake; I know my task. It doesn’t involve building dams.’  
  
‘I am not clueless; you lot are crazy,’ Hermione said, scrambling to her feet exasperated, wanting to pull her hair out by its roots.   
  
Snake swirled away from its wood-throwing activities. ‘We are in your head, girlie. Perhaps it is the only place we are crazy,’ snake hissed, advancing upon her threateningly.   
  
Hermione stepped back fearfully.   
  
‘Think you can outrun snake?’ it asked, tilting its head mockingly.   
  
Hermione tried, but it flung to her throat and bit down. ‘Don’t come back until you learn.’  
  
‘Don’t come back until you learn. Don’t come back until you learn. Don’t come back until you learn,’ it echoed inside her head, while she tossed and turned in bed; until she crash-landed on the floor and woke, severely distraught and totally disoriented.  
  
‘If you’re done fighting the inevitable, join me in the same room as before; you need the practise,’ Lord Voldemort said coldly, tossing the necklace to her and walking out the bedroom without another word.   
  
Hermione swallowed and sat up, leaning against the bed. She ran the necklace through her fingers, tilted her head back, closed her eyes and sighed. This was all too confusing to her. Nothing made sense anymore. She needed the world to make sense, to be logical; but she, apparently, was stuck in crazy hell. Yes, that was where she was, crazy hell.   
  
And the worst thing was, there seemed to be no end in sight.   
  
-


	18. Chapter 18

**  
  
Chapter Eighteen**  
  
Hermione had gone over it, and over it, and over it, again, and again, and again in her mind.   
  
 _No, not about that._  
  
Having had sex with the most evil wizard of all was not what haunted her; she could easily rationalise through the attraction she felt for him. That, at least, had a couple of logical aspects, all things considering – her isolation, captivity, him being her guide, the way he acted around her, and so on. Deep down, Hermione had always known she had a considerable dark place inside and she was very aware she preferred strong men, so she wasn’t beating herself around the bush about what happened. It was, after all, just sex – no big deal. So what if he would gladly kill her friends, her relatives, everything she stood for – she could return that feeling, quid pro quo every step of the way.   
  
Well, he’d saved her the trouble of having to bother with his relatives.   
  
For a brief moment, she relished the sight of eliminating every single one of his moronic followers, but her mind wouldn’t stay in that peaceful state of delicious vengeance. No, it went straight back to focus upon what she was unable to deduce rationally. It was the insane dream that, for some reason, haunted her. It made no sense, no sense at all. She hated it when things did not make sense. Well, the four animals could be seen as the four Houses of Hogwarts that much she gathered, but the rest of her dream? Nuts, absolutely nuts. She brooded over it, wanting to analyse and put it in its rightful place, so she could move on. But she kept turning up empty.   
  
‘Granger.’  
  
The badger built dams to keep the forest safe, and that was important, because well… (she rolled her eyes) to get a snake to do hard labour, something big must happen if it wasn’t completed. But why the lion fought with the eagle, she couldn’t begin to comprehend. It was all just so frustrating. She wanted to pull her hair out of her head. And then, the badger seemed prone to tea, and they all seemed to dislike each other a lot, though-  
  
‘Granger!’  
  
Oops. She looked up and turned pale when she saw Lord Voldemort was eyeing her, while twirling his wand in his hand. Crap, she hadn’t been paying attention. That was bound to become painful.   
  
A slightly curious look crossed his otherwise expressionless snakelike face. ‘Mind telling me, Hermione, what’s apparently more important than what Lord Voldemort is trying to teach you here on Controlled Casting?’ he asked threateningly.  
  
‘Nothing,’ she muttered, shuffling on her feet.  
  
‘Yes, I know that,’ he sneered. ‘But perhaps you can then enlighten me upon the unimportant things you were dwelling upon, wasting my precious time; or,’ he wiggled his wand, ‘should I find out for myself?’  
  
She glared at him, making him snigger in amusement.   
  
‘I just had a stupid dream, alright?’  
  
‘Stupid, how come?’ he asked, interested.  
  
‘It didn’t make sense and it was totally illogically,’ she said, throwing her hands in the air aggravated. It was like opening the floodgates when she started her long tirade. She ended her rant, about everything that wasn’t normal and coherent, letting out a huge breath of air as if releasing the last bit of steam that had been building up inside for these last couple of hours.   
  
Lord Voldemort watched her with a thoroughly blank expression. He made no reply, no remarks on her rant whatsoever. It was a first.  
  
Hermione folded her arms over each other. ‘Well?’ she asked, tilting her head daringly. ‘No infinitely intelligent insightful comments on that?’ she asked mockingly.  
  
He considered her for a moment. ‘You wouldn’t want to hear,’ he said quietly.   
  
‘Since when does that stop you?’  
  
He scratched his neck in doubt. ‘I am not certain you are ready to hear it,’ he said, concentrating his eyes on her contemplatively.  
  
If she had thought she was aggravated before, now she most certainly was livid. He held up his hand to stop the inevitable explosive rant from occurring. Hermione’s mouth was already open and she slammed it shut with an audible pop, waiting rather impatiently for him to open his. It took awhile, but she noticed his eyes were focused on the right side of his brain, so he was truly considering answering her truthfully. It was what stopped her from opening her mouth in the seconds of silence, which seemed to last forever.   
  
His red eyes focussed back on her. ‘Your mind is above all analytic and concrete,’ Lord Voldemort said softly, approaching her slowly. ‘You need everything to be orderly placed, to fit into their respected boxes chronologically, so you can make sense of it. You watch the world and everything in it, all that you see, hear, sense, and read, through these glasses of logic. That which is proven right is a fact, that which is not proven is open to debate. You have very sharp observational skills, so you disregard that which you cannot observe as false, because you know only that which you can observe can be considered a true reality.’   
  
He had halted right in front of her, so she had to crane her neck to keep eye contact. ‘Your analytic, logical state of mind, which values the concrete above all, is both your greatest strength and weakness,’ he said, eyeing her intensely. ‘It allows you to step back and see all without emotional interference. It allows you to determine the best course of action by weighing all the arguments pro and con. But it also paralyses you. It holds you back to take a spontaneous initiative, to explore your creativity for that which is not necessarily useful immediately, to take the time and do a bit of senseless,’ he cupped her cheek, ‘daydreaming about things that do not exist and may never have meaning. It is …’ he halted thoughtfully and changed his wording to something less sharp, ‘your Achilles’ heel.’  
  
Hermione swallowed. She looked down, furrowing her brow, thinking hard.   
  
His other hand came to rest on the other side of her face, and he bent forward, kissing her on the top of her head. ‘You’d become even more spectacular if you’d explore those parts you think are irrelevant. Let go once in awhile, Hermione, and simply dream.’  
  
He walked away after that, leaving her alone with her thoughts.   
  
\---  
  
‘One-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fourteen, one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fifteen, one-thousand; AAAH! Crap, you made me lose my count.’ Annoyed, Gellert Grindelwald glared at the red-flashing owl-shaped light bulb and scattered to his feet, muttering, ‘It’s not like the others will let me help anyway.’  
  
\---  
  
‘Next school-year you’ll learn how to perform Apparation,’ Voldemort lectured softly, strolling around the mirrored chamber, while Hermione tried to regain her composure from the after-effects of his numerous Legilimency attacks only seconds ago. Her Occlumency skills were improving rapidly with every single session. But every time he would just up the stakes a bit higher to have her clutching at her head, kneeling on the floor, in agony again, while he took a walk down Granger memory lane, the Extended Deluxe Edition – Director’s cut.   
  
However, he was obviously switching topics now – back to casting exercise. And she had found out quickly it was better for your health to pay attention as fast as you possibly could; otherwise you were bound to be on the receiving end of his wand again. Not to mention he was not one to repeat himself, and she actually didn’t want to miss a single thing he said to her, because he seldom made idle conversation.  
  
‘They will make a really big deal about it,’ he said with a slight sneer in his quiet voice. ‘Get you specialized instructors just for this subject alone. They will tell you Apparation is about the three D’s; determination, deliberation and destination. Well, I’d hate to burst their bubble of importance, but everything in magic is about the three D’s.’   
  
He turned around and seemingly satisfied with her attentive expression, he continued, ‘You can only have so much control over your casting to the extend you are concentrated on the wanted outcome, which means every spell you cast needs to be deliberate or planned intently, determined or focussed on the conclusion and destined - which is knowing where it needs to go. The only difference between Apparation and your common variety charms is you don’t end up Splinched with a charm if you’re not focussing on those three casting basics, you’ll just be less effective in the outcome of it. To be less effective,’ he said quietly, halting in front of her, ‘may be acceptable to some twits out there. However, here, you will strive to use your skills to their full extend every single time you cast. Is that clear, Hermione?’  
  
She nodded quickly.  
  
‘Mmm,’ he contemplated, looking at her. ‘Well, I will soon see if that’s true.’ He pointed his wand over his shoulder and conjured the pedestal with the glass vase again. ‘At least this time around, you’re not forgetting to block my Legilimency. Though, should you keep bothering me with that insipid love song, I may be forced to resort to something a bit more invasive than just a Stage One attack.’   
  
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, disgruntled. ‘I do not like it much either, but it’s stuck in my head.’  
  
‘Unstuck it,’ he ordered, walking away.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. If she knew how to “ _unstuck_ ” it, her mind wouldn’t be humming the stupid chorus over and over again. She’d been trying to just count numbers unsuccessfully. She’d hummed other songs, she knew and liked better, to get rid of it; but every time those three silly  _lalala_  lines kept popping up their ugly heads right in the middle of it. She didn’t even know the rest of the words to the song – it was maddening. She felt certain it had to be more annoying to her than to him. He could escape it by just staying the hell out of her mind.   
  
Lord Voldemort stopped approximately halfway between her and her target, but a little to the side. He moved his wand in a small circular motion and a round one-way ward rose around the pedestal. His wand flipped back into his sleeve instantaneously when he was done. Folding his arms over each other, he said, ‘The Blasting Charm, keeping deliberation, determination and destination in mind.’  
  
Okay, so she had to plan what she did, reach a decision on how, and make sure to finalise said decision. Hermione tilted her head left and right, loosened her neck and shoulders, and placed her feet slightly apart. Concentrate, but relax. Expulso needed a slight twist of the wrist to the right; less was more. She took in the vase for a moment. ‘Expulso!’   
  
Tiny bits of glass struck the ward Lord Voldemort had erected forcefully. Quickly, they scattered back to the pedestal and reassembled themselves. He nodded thoughtfully, while gesturing at her to continue. Hermione got another set of blows in, while he began moving around her. It was kind of distracting. ‘Expulso!’ she cast with a lot less result.   
  
Irritated, she shook her arms lose, while her nose wrinkled. She took a deep breath, got ready and raised her arm. ‘Wait,’ Voldemort ordered, pacing toward her.   
  
She froze.  
  
‘Destination you’ve got covered, but you need to work on both deliberation and determination,’ he said calmly at her back, while moving her body into a slightly different stance by pulling her shoulders back and tilting her hips. ‘Keep your posture straight. The impact of your spells is a lot less when you hunch forward like that. And less wand-waving with basic charms like these, only a slight twist of the wrist is required for this one,’ he’d grabbed her hand and moved it about one eight of a turn a couple of times. ‘You’ve got it?’  
  
Hermione repeated the motion on her own, memorising the feel, and nodded.   
  
‘Good,’ Voldemort said, looking over her shoulder at the vase. ‘Remember with low level spells the rule is, the more you move, the more of your energy is used for the movement and not for the performance of the spell. It may look mighty interesting to others seeing you flourish your wand around, but we’re not here for entertainment purposes.’  
  
‘How do you distinguish between low and high level?’ asked Hermione curiously, since he had already told her that for high level spells the opposite was true. Then, movement added power.  
  
‘They feel different,’ Voldemort answered, stepping back.   
  
Hermione frowned.  _Feel different?_  That was so not helpful. ‘But-but… so many things affect the impression of a spell, so how-?’  
  
‘First deliberation and determination,’ Voldemort interrupted. ‘As long as you haven’t incorporated that fully into your system, Hermione, it’s a futile action on my part to explain magical perception to you.’  
  
Hermione sighed but knew a lost cause when she saw one.  _Deliberation, determination._  She concentrated and blew up the vase again. The outcome was a lot more spectacular than before, but Lord Voldemort was unimpressed. ‘You need to WANT to blow up the vase, Granger.’  
  
‘Well, it’s getting a bit repetitive,’ she sneered. ‘My intense hatred toward it seems to be diminishing rapidly.’  
  
‘All the more reason to want to do it right and be done,’ he retorted, smirking.  
  
She shuffled on her feet, retook her stance, and focussed.   
  
‘You can always pretend it’s something other than a vase,’ he suggested deviously. ‘Just think it’s one of your enemies.’   
  
Hermione lowered her arm and scowled at him over her shoulder. ‘Why waste my time on the vase then?’ she mumbled sarcastically, turning back, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.  _Really, much better targets were available after all._  
  
She. Did. Not. Hear. Chicken. Noises. Behind. Her. Now.   
  
Her body tensed and the grip on her wand tightened. Oh, she was deliberating it. She most definitely was.  
  
Ugh. Now he was sniggering; and to make it even worse, it sounded like a very,  _very_  condescending mocking snigger, too.   
  
Fine! He wanted to see determination, he could get determination. Hermione swirled around. ‘Expulso!’   
  
The charm burst from her wand with the force of lightning and charged to Lord Voldemort. He, swiftly, moved his wand diagonal over his chest to catch and redirect her spell back. Hermione dove to the ground. It raced just over her head.   
  
‘Protego!’   
  
Lord Voldemort’s Shield Charm flew around her, handing her much needed additional protection from the immense blast that followed. It shredded not only the vase but the pedestal to pieces as well. The circular ward around it was next to be obliterated and it sounded like the chiming of thousand little bells when the debris impacted on his Shield Charm. The violence of the blast was so enormous the debris that scattered around had the size of grains of sand without any identifying features to their origin at all. Stunned, Hermione looked at the empty spot that had contained her practise target. It wasn’t reassembling yet. It still wasn’t reassembling. A pair of black shiny shoes stopped beside her head.  
  
 _Crap. This was going to hurt._  
  
‘Much better,’ a satisfied voice said above her. ‘I’d better not see a repetition of those feeble castings you did before, now you’ve shown you are capable of this.’  
  
Of course, she’d been unable to repeat it. After which her first assessment of what would happen got proven right. ‘Crucio!’ Lord Voldemort cast loosely.  
  
With a soft clatter, her wand bounced across the floor before Hermione crashed down on it. Quickly, she clenched her hands into fist and focussed her mind on not doing anything stupid with them. She’d learned the hard way you needed to keep your hands away from your face, clothes, and hard surfaces in order not to do any lasting damage on yourself. The Cruciatus Curse left no physical marks, unless you counted the self-inflicted ones. On previous occasions, she had pulled out huge chunks of her hair, clawed her arms open until they bled, tore some of her clothes apart, scratched her fingernails off on the floor, and would have likely done some serious damage to her eyes had he not restrained her that time around.   
  
And as that unimaginable pain swirled through her body again, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how much of a mixed blessing her ability to keep thinking was. If only she could block out the pain, now that would have been useful; but  _nooooo,_  her ability to compartmentalise only supplied him with the knowledge he could indulge himself endlessly in one of his favourite curses. She writhed and thrashed on the floor, letting out another high-pitched scream in agony, while her ears picked up his cold, detached tone of voice that spoke ever so calmly.   
  
‘I do recall warning you, Hermione Granger, Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to any performance not done to the best of your abilities. Since you so nicely showed the true extend your casting can reach, I. Will. Not. Allow. You. To. Settle. For. Anything. Less,’ he said with clear emphasis on every word, lowering his wand at the end of his sentence.  
  
A relieved sigh left her lips when the curse was lifted. She’d ended up on her belly; her fists dangerously close to her face. She unclenched them, stretched her fingers, and leaned her forehead on them, taking another deep breath. Slowly, her muscles ceased the curse’s aftermath tremble, until no evidence of the horrific occurrence remained. Hermione almost relaxed when he stepped above her – a foot placed on either side of her body. She tensed.  _Now what?_  
  
He squatted down and wrapped his right hand in her hair. Knowing he was occupying his wand-hand there didn’t make her feel more at ease. From her standpoint it was impossible to see if he had pocketed it. Though his left-handed casting wasn’t nearly as effective as his right-handed, it was still way above average and nothing to desire to be on the receiving end off. He yanked her head back roughly. His left hand was empty. YAY Gods!   
  
‘Care to explain, Granger, why you can be deliberate and determined when I am the target?’   
  
 _Oh man, she was a dead woman now._  ‘Erm… oops?’ she whispered, trying to make light of it.   
  
The second yank on her hair was far more forcefully. Hermione yelped in pain and surprise; her back crashed into his upper body, for he had pulled her up on her knees. His left arm wrapped around her waist quickly, holding her tightly, while he used the firm grip he had on her hair as a method of keeping her under control. He pulled her head back, so she had to face him.   
  
‘Oops,’ he repeated softly and ever so threateningly; his red eyes glared down at her.   
  
‘I didn’t think it would really hit you,’ Hermione spoke with an apologetic smile, trying to appear as harmless as possible.   
  
Lord Voldemort seemed to think about that, for a second; then, out came, ‘So you embarked on a meaningless endeavour knowingly?’   
  
Worried, Hermione’s eyes darted around, because that sounded very much as a trick question to her.   
  
‘Answer me, Hermione,’ Voldemort ordered slowly.  
  
‘I suppose,’ she muttered hesitatingly.   
  
‘You suppose,’ he repeated as if he was testing the suggestion on his tongue. ‘You suppose you tried to do something futile AFTER Lord Voldemort gave you an explicit order NOT to be less effective in your casting.’  
  
 _See, there was a catch._  ‘I did try,’ she objected.  
  
‘So you lied to Lord Voldemort when you said you were under the assumption the Blasting Charm would not hit me.’  
  
‘No, I-I,’ she stuttered, realising the trap he had spun.  
  
‘Then you lied when you said you did try,’ he concluded, smirking.  
  
Hermione groaned, recognising that expression. Now she was utterly convinced she was screwed either way.  
  
‘No amount of groaning will help you now, witch; explain yourself,’ he hissed.  
  
‘I-I,’ an idea came to her. ‘I did try to be at my most effectiveness,’ Hermione said and added rather slippery, ‘however, I would never presume that my casting could ever reach my Lord’s lofty heights.’ Ah, she deserved an ingenuity medal for coming up with that bull.   
  
Of course, said bull would have sold better had she not plastered a huge smirk on her face and had her eyes not been dancing with triumph. Not to mention that her mind was pretty much screaming “got you there; your turn” at a well-known Master of Legilimency. Said Master stared down at her with a completely blank expression, silently. The longer the silence lasted, the more Hermione’s amusement grew. He tilted his head, thoughtfully, and opened his mouth only to close it again without a word. Hermione snorted and couldn’t hold her giggles in anymore. She shook with laughter in his arms.   
  
He glanced down condescendingly, clicking with his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Dreadful act, Granger, probably the worst display of verbal and nonverbal communicatory congruence I have ever seen.’  
  
‘Ah, perhaps, but I got you there,’ she sniggered.   
  
‘So you think you’ve won?’ he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes.   
  
Lord Voldemort let go of her hair; a flick of his wrist and his wand swung back in place. Hermione gasped when the non-verbal cast spell hit her. An overwhelming sensation charged through her, leaving her panting, wet, and ready for him instantaneously. Slowly, he teased her by tracing her body with the tip of his wand, not doing anything to relieve her symptoms to remind her who was in charge here. Damn it, she wanted –  _no_  – needed him right now.  
  
‘Fine, you win,’ Hermione conceded, moaning.   
  
‘Really?’ he asked tauntingly, as if it had ever been a question in his mind. ‘I think it is custom to reward the victor.’   
  
He flicked his wand at her lower regions. Hermione arched her back and bucked in his arms; her legs kicked out in front of her; she grabbed a hold of his arm around her waist but landed on her butt nevertheless, screaming as he made her orgasm without even touching her.   
  
‘So,’ he said suggestively as she caught her breath, ‘reward me.’  
  
‘How?’ she asked, still dazed.  
  
In a blink of an eye, her clothes were history and he twirled her around in his arms magically. Smirking at her, he waited till she caught her balance in a stance on her knees before he lay down on the floor and vanished his robes, too.   
  
‘You, on top,’ he ordered, folding his hands behind his head leisurely.   
  
Uncertain, Hermione looked around. How did he fancy that to work?   
  
‘Can’t figure it out, Granger?’ he sniggered. ‘I thought you were supposed to be intelligent?’  
  
She felt her face burning with heat and glared at him. He’d conjured a pillow underneath his head. Apparently, his highness wasn’t comfortable enough before. He eyed her merrily; she opened her mouth to say something disparaging, but a slight change in his expression stopped her. She froze. Slowly, he raised his upper body to her, took a hold of her head and halted inches away from her.   
  
‘Bad idea, Hermione,’ he whispered to her lips, ‘You need to occupy that insolent mouth of yours differently.’   
  
Immediately, he made that statement come true by ravishing her mouth with his tongue thoroughly. She moaned; her hands reached his waist and she caressed his smooth skin softly. Almost certain he had tensed for a split-second there, she withdrew her hands; but he let go of her head, grabbed her wrists, yanked her hands back against him, took a hold of her head again, and continued that delicious investigation of her mouth even more ferociously.   
  
When he finally allowed her to take a breath, her head fell back and the world swirled. She held on to his shoulders as he placed feather light kisses across her throat, skimming past his necklace that she still wore. His hands moved down on the side of her body, avoiding all those places she really wanted to be touched. He traced the entire length of her bent legs all the way to her ankles before moving back up and stopping at her thighs, massaging them. Abruptly, he slapped the outside of them harshly, making her shudder.   
  
‘Those need to be on the outskirt of my legs, dear,’ he tutored, nibbling on her jaw, trailing her skin with the back of his fingers from her legs to her waist. It was extremely distracting. His remark about her legs didn’t quite register.   
  
‘Now!’ he hissed, digging his fingers into her sides and lifting her abruptly.   
  
Hermione yelped; she clutched to his shoulders, afraid she was going to fall; her head swung up, and she watched him reproachfully when he laughed at her expression. ‘There,’ he said, patting her head in a condescending manner after he had put her down. ‘Now, you’re in the right position.’   
  
Hermione looked down and noted she straddled his legs now. Lord Voldemort lay back down, one arm underneath his head on the pillow; the other beckoned her forward with his index-finger. ‘It would be convenient if you moved that delicious body a bit more this way,’ he said, waving with his hand over his crotch and his already erect member.   
  
Blood rushed to her face once more. Yep, she was definitely ripe for the picking. He scratched his chin slowly with his fingers. A devious smile erupted on his face, as she crawled closer. For a brief moment he considered it, especially when her soft hair came in contact with his skin. But he filed it away for a later occasion. Too soon, he deemed that activity to be. After all, he had the tendency to get carried away when someone pleasured him orally. Those brown eyes watched him somewhat apprehensively now. No, definitely not ready for such a punishment, yet.   
  
‘Kiss me,’ he ordered coolly, pulling his other arm underneath his head, too.   
  
She placed her hands on either side of his head for support and leaned forward, kissing him hesitantly on his lips. He made no move, no initiative, so she withdrew slightly. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ he clicked with his tongue. ‘Surely, you can do better,’ he sneered and added threateningly, ‘and I strongly advise you not to disappoint Lord Voldemort again. Now, kiss me like your life depends on it.’   
  
Looking at the blank expression on his face, Hermione realised it wasn’t all that hypothetical. Carefully, she placed her lips on his again, parted them and asked for access with her tongue. He granted it and she began exploring his mouth. Their tongues danced around each other, applying pressure while sucking in each other’s fluids. All her fears, embarrassment, restraint, and apprehension of not doing things right, it all flew out the window as they kissed longer and deeper. Their bodies came in contact when she lowered herself further. Her stomach clenched upon the sensation of his naked skin against hers and that little emerald pendant stuck between them.   
  
His hand was suddenly in her hair, yanking her mouth from his. ‘I believe you’re wet enough now,’ he whispered barely audible, tossing her back up roughly. ‘Fuck me, Granger,’ he demanded; his crude order made her insides clench again, ‘Lower yourself over my cock on your knees. I want to see that petite body of yours moving above me. I want to see you work for me, little one.’  
  
Hermione scooted back to his hips. She was a little clumsy in getting them connected, but he let her muddle through. Eventually, she slid herself over him - slowly, because she had to adjust to this new sensation. It felt sharper, deeper from this angle, and she gasped, stilling when he was fully sheathed inside of her; her hands rested on his abdomen.   
  
‘Move for me, Hermione.’  
  
Lord Voldemort gazed at her intensely, in his leisurely laid back position, and she moved for him. She couldn’t take her eyes of him as he guided her, controlled her every move with that soft commanding voice of his, even while he lay beneath her. She rode him, but she was never in charge. And she loved every minute of it.   
  
‘Look up, Hermione, and watch yourself,’ he demanded.   
  
Hermione tore her eyes away from his and did as he said. She hadn’t realised before this room had wall to wall mirrors. She stared at this bushy-haired naked girl dressed only in a Slytherin-fashion necklace, who straddled the darkest wizard of all, and she hardly recognised herself. Her face was flustered and covered with a wild, freeing, unguarded expression that she’d never seen in her reflection before. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes.   
  
‘Don’t,’ he spoke softly, bending at his waist to meet her eyes, leaning on one elbow. ‘You are glorious.’ He took a hold of her jaw and kissed her softly. ‘This is who you could be all the time if you got out of your own way, Hermione,’ he lifted her chin, while lowering his body, so she’d see herself again. Certain, she was watching, he traced his thumb over her lips. ‘It is nothing to be embarrassed about. Look at yourself, Hermione, look while you let go. Watch how beautiful you are when you lose yourself like that.’   
  
He raked his nails down over her body, cupping her breast and massaging it. Her erect nipple caressed his palm and he gave it a good pinch. Hermione gasped; she thrust her head back, and to his delight her walls tightened around him. He twisted inside of her and if he wouldn’t have had his wits about him, he’d have come right then and there. But he couldn’t afford that now; he wanted her to see first.   
  
‘Move, Hermione, make me come.’  
  
She complied and began riding him again, watching herself doing so. He’d lain back completely, but both his hands were on her body. He raked his nails up and down her sides; her eyes unfocussed briefly.   
  
‘Clench your walls when you rise, Hermione, try to hold me as long as possible before you go down again.’  
  
Her obedience was delicious. He knew she could see it in the mirrors. How hard her muscles worked to please him; her perspiring and flushed body; his mark she wore around her neck; her hair dancing around her head; his hands on her breasts, massaging them – harder and harder. He felt her movement falter and he pinched both nipples forcefully. She yelled; her entire body shuddered in delight, and she closed her eyes briefly.   
  
He felt her lean on his chest, and he gripped her hips to help stabilise her body. Shaking her head wildly, Hermione continued riding him though her movement was shaky and disjointed this close to her completion. He steadied her, helped her keep up the pace, while his fingers forced her pelvis to tilt, so he would enter her at a different angle. It did the trick. Her face went slack, that moment of total abandon, as she climaxed around him; quickly, he flicked his wrist and whipped his wand at her.   
  
Sex Charms were so useful, he felt, especially this particular one. It forced her to keep moving up and down on him, rotating her hips and milking him for all she was worth. He kept her in that moment, making her quivering body experience wave after wave of unbelievable pleasure – never allowing her to lower the state of ecstasy she was in.   
  
She rubbed her hands over her face, combing her hair away, panting for air. His cock hit her G-spot over and over and over again. She felt him spasm inside her and cried out. Seeing herself in the mirror like this was an out-of-body experience. Her face shined with the pleasure she could feel; every reflection showed her merciless how much she enjoyed what happened; how completely her surrender to him was, and she didn’t care. God, as long as he made her feel this way, she really, really didn’t care.   
  
She heard him cry out and his hot semen struck her womb. Upon his completion, the charm broke and she collapsed on top of him, utterly exhausted but very satisfied. Her head rested on his chest and she could hear his heart pounding inside. It was a soothing sound; it made her sleepy. His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her on the top of her head. She raised her head and smiled at him.   
  
‘Absolutely beautiful,’ he said, smiling back, while caressing her face softly.   
  
She’d never seen herself look so happy and relaxed before. She placed her head back on his chest. Mesmerised, she stared at her telling reflection in the mirror. Seeing is believing, but this was ridiculous. What was that man doing to her? She knew she was in deep trouble when even that thought didn’t erase the goofy smile on her face. So, she closed her eyes; at least then, she wouldn’t have to see the fool in the mirror. Besides, she was tired anyway. Feeling very content and safe, she fell asleep fast.   
  
His body shook with triumphant laughter as he levitated the sleeping witch off of him. It was all coming together quite nicely. He truly was brilliant. He threw a hand-kiss in thanks at the useful mirrors and rose, using a Scouring Charm on his body before his robes reappeared with a swish of his wand and enveloped him again. He didn’t dress nor cleansed her as he brought her back to her room and put her to bed. There was no need to help her ignore what had happened. Pulling the necklace over her head, he smirked at dangling pendant in his hand and turned on his heels. Time to see what his useless followers had been unable to achieve.   
  
\---  
  
Nathaira strolled around the frozen in mid-air spell. If she wasn’t seeing it with her very own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. But there it was, a solid beam of purple positioned motionless in her laboratory – not getting any closer to the alleged target. This was impossible. She had only seen this done once before. Surely, this blonde nutcase couldn’t have? … Possibly? … No way!  
  
‘It’s the Virola; they infect your magic – make it dysfunctional,’ Luna said sadly. ‘They are very wicked creatures. It’s best to avoid them; but it’s hard, especially after they tasted your magic once. They can be very persistent, as my mum found out.’ She seemed upset. ‘I clearly failed today.’  
  
 _She failed? Failed!_    
  
By Merlin, she wanted to strangle the witch, or better, smash her head in, hoping it would help restore the logic that clearly went on vacation in the girl’s mind. If that blasted half-blood Riddle didn’t deliver what she needed soon, she was not responsible for the consequences.  
  
‘We shouldn’t use magic for now. It’s too dangerous. The Virola multiply and gain strength from it,’ Luna added, pocketing her wand.   
  
‘The what?’ Nathaira asked sweetly, weighing her wand in her hand, while considering it.   
  
Oh, she was considering it. No matter if she had to take them all on afterward, she was considering it, seriously. This girl would be the death of her if she had to hear one more, just one more incredibly stupid insane incomprehensible strange explanation! Didn’t the idiot realise she just accomplished the impossible? And what was Lovegood looking at now? Did she need to owl an exterminator to get rid of some more invisible creatures?  
  
Nathaira turned her head, and Luna was no longer the only one seeing the little red owl. Nathaira flashed her wand around and apparated away instantaneously.  
  
‘Oh-oh,’ Luna said, shaking her head, while her purple dash struck its target without any effect. ‘I warned you not to use your magic around the Virola. They just love power.’  
  
\---  
  
Hermione was sixteen, tossing and turning in bed, unable to gain sleep before she solved their dilemma on how to keep their DA-meetings secret. She should have thought of this problem beforehand, but she hadn’t realised exactly how blatantly conspicuous it was, until every single member from the other Houses started targeting Harry with questions about when they would have their first meeting. Their constant visits to the Gryffindor table would be a waving red flag for Umbitch. They needed a secure method of communication.   
  
The hearths were out. Owls could be intercepted. Hogwarts’ House-Elves had to answer to the wicked witch of the west, too. Any system that involved messengers that talked could be compromised. Really, who would you trust? And again, it would be noticed if Harry or she were suddenly found more often near any other dormitory than theirs. She pulled the pillow over her head to stop the frustrated yells she felt like making. There had to be a method to communicate safely to so many different people. Surely, if Vol-   
  
Abruptly, she sat up.   
  
The memory of Cornelius Fudge recoiling away from Severus Snape as he showed him the tattoo on his forearm sprung to mind. She jumped out of her dormitory bed, excited.  
  
Something pushed at her mind, and suddenly, she was back in the infirmary, sitting on Harry’s bed, while Snape spoke to Fudge. ‘There,’ said Snape harshly, ‘There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was, an hour or so when it burnt black, but you can still see it.’  
  
It confused her. She’d been so excited with the idea of maybe having a solution. She was running down the staircases to go to the library. She’d skimmed through a NEWT charms’ textbook last year that contained the Protean Charm. She just had to double-check if she still remembered it correctly.   
  
A slight pressure in her mind.  
  
‘Every Death Eater had the sign burnt into him by the Dark Lord,’ Snape continued.   
  
No, no, wrong memory. No.  
  
‘It was a means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us to him. – As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has left no record of the topics you have covered so far -’  
  
‘Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows,’ Hermione said quickly, ‘and we’re just about to start-’  
  
‘Be quiet,’ Snape said coldly. ‘When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to – I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organisation. – Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark – Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. And I - This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why - Silence! Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third year class who - do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We - Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all,’ Snape said coolly.   
  
The painful emotion grabbed her again, enabling her to ignore the small push against her mind. She had never felt more insignificant in her life. The pressure became harder. But Snape’s comment had stung to the very core of her being. She was only trying her best to learn everything. Hermione clutched her hands to her head, suddenly aware she was on her knees on the floor and not in that classroom. The awareness almost pulled her back to the infirmary, but that memory held no sting to her. She felt the soft shift in her mind, knew what was happening, knew she was losing, and she grabbed the pain Snape inflicted that day and wallowed - no - rolled in it, held it tight with both hands to not let this memory slip away again. Hermione watched the classroom floor, eyes full of tears, trying to hold them back so no one would notice and she’d feel even more humiliated.   
  
Ron spoke loudly, ‘You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?’  
  
She could feel the entire class holding its breath, waiting for Snape’s inevitable response; but all she felt was gratitude to Ron for taking the attention away from her, for sticking up for her, for simply being her friend.   
  
‘Detention Weasley,’ Snape spoke silkily. ‘And if I ever hear you criticise the way I-’  
  
‘Impressive,’ Voldemort spoke softly, lowering his wand, staring into thin air.   
  
He hadn’t seen anything Severus hadn’t already informed him about happening, but there was something about seeing it from Granger’s perspective that didn’t make the scene with Fudge sit quite as well with him as it had done seeing it from Severus’s point of view. Too bad Granger, apparently, decided to fight back right when he hit a memory he’d preferred to see undisturbed. It wasn’t strange, considering he was very well aware the girl deemed Snape to be on the side of the Order. Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, was still undecided.   
  
Snape had returned with his memory intact. Dumbledore hadn’t obliviated him, so he hadn’t told the man about Hermione Granger being here. Of course, that wasn’t one-hundred percent foolproof evidence either, since he wouldn’t put it past the old coot to see through the reason why he hadn’t obliviated him, and had left Severus’s memory intact in order not to destroy his cover. And there was always the chance Severus was on no one’s side but his own. The man was slippery enough to try to balance between the two of them to keep his options open.   
  
There had to be a way to force Severus’s true allegiance out in the open. This ridiculous risk he was taking had to end, soon. Lord Voldemort turned his attention back to the girl on the floor before him and smirked. He supposed Hermione Granger could assist him in flushing out Severus. Considering their history together, he could actually kill two birds with one stone. Yes, it was time they met again without disguises. He was going to enjoy watching that a lot.   
  
Hermione had let out a relieved sigh when she felt the push against her mind disappearing. Rubbing her hands over her face, she groaned. The last couple of days had been one big festivity of attacks after another. At some point, she had “kindly” reminded him of his previous words stating there was this little thing called a risk of brain damage occurring. He had “kindly” retorted with a full-blown Stage Three Strike, replying  _He_  – unlike others – knew what he was doing, so there was no risk. It hadn’t made her feel at ease at all.   
  
Then, the day arrived she was supposed to go to the Weasleys, and said day had passed as all others. Nebi kept popping in, bringing first letters and later Keeper Howlers. Hermione had so far counted eight different angry voices, but was unable to identify them since the Howlers never lived long enough to express their entire message. Gellert Grindelwald arrived at the most inconvenient of moments over and over again, expressing the Council’s utmost disapproval before slouching himself in the nearest chair and yawning, while Voldemort replied Dumbledore could wait, until he was good and well done. Although, perhaps he did not use those exact words.   
  
He’d mix and match Occlumency lessons with Controlled Casting ones and Hermione didn’t think he’d ever be completely satisfied with her performances in either field. He’d upped his Legilimency from Stage Two to Stage Three attacks and it was pointless to remind him he’d made sure others would not perform said attack to begin with.   
  
 _Once you block this, you can block anything._  
  
Sure, he did it for her benefit.   
  
Hermione had a sneaking suspicion he probably just got a kick from watching her squirm on the floor since he often moved to Occlumency practise, after she’d botched up on her casting, which with his standards was easily done. A bit higher this, a bit lower that, do you have to stand like a dork? Stand grounded, feet slightly apart, be firm but keep your muscles lose at the same time, take a deep breath, concentrate on your target. Do you need to make those stupid twitches over and over again? Focus on yourself first, then cast. Pull the magic from within. Are you trying to hypnotise me with all those silly wand-waves?   
  
It was even more annoying when the comments came from behind whatever book he was reading from within his lazy chair. She was sure he did that on purpose to get a rise out of her. She had not given him the satisfaction. Though if she had to blow up, summon, levitate, banish, vanquish, or do whatever other charm to one more glass vase, chances were high he’d get lucky again one day soon.   
  
‘Very impressive,’ she heard Lord Voldemort commending her resent Occlumency performance. Hermione didn’t share the sentiment; she felt he saw far too much of the Snape-Fudge conversation, even if she managed to juggle another Snape memory into it and eventually was able to hold onto that one.   
  
But Lord Voldemort circled her, demanded her attention in the here and now, as he continued to speak in that soft, quiet tone of voice. ‘Finally you begin to show some resilience against a Stage Three Strike. But I’d say it is time we resume your casting practise now.’  
  
Oh please, who did he think he was kidding? Sure, she’d buy that load of crap, especially when he was still acting like a predator about to strike. No, Hermione kept her eyes firmly to herself.   
  
A soft snigger sounded above her. ‘And you finally start to realise just because someone says it’s over doesn’t necessarily make it so. Get up,’ he ordered, pacing away.  
  
Hermione groaned when she saw the damn pedestal reappear in the distance.   
  
\---  
  
‘Ah, but your aim and will should be alike to gain the best effect of your casting. It’s not just moving your wrist around in little swish and flick motions,’ Albus Dumbledore explained, walking to a very attentive Draco Malfoy. ‘You need your mind to stay extremely focussed at the task at hand for it to truly come to completion.’ Dumbledore drew his wand. ‘Allow me to demon-’ he halted, looked up concerned at seemingly nothing, and then, clashed his hands together above his head.   
  
Draco yelped in fear and ducked when a huge phoenix-shaped fireball travelled through the room. When he looked up, Professor Dumbledore was gone. Stunned, Draco rose and checked everywhere – even behind and under the large desk. Well, you never knew with that man.   
  
‘Professor? Professor!’ he shouted.  
  
Feeling duly trapped in the firmly sealed office, Draco plummeted in the Headmaster’s chair. A second later, he saw something very upsetting appear before his eyes. He pressed his eyelids together and rubbed his knuckles over them; sure, he was going insane. Too much proximity and exposure to Albus Dumbledore had made him lose his marbles as well, and he hadn’t even touched the damn lemon drops once!   
  
When he reopened his eyes, however, Draco knew the Headmaster’s condition had to be contagious somehow, because True Malfoys do not see red owls.   
  
Fawkes cried out when Draco slammed his head on the hard wooden desk repeatedly.   
  
\---


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To point out the obvious, I just want to say that this is not a practical guide to BDSM. It’s fiction and not always too realistic, given that I'll adjust the experience for magically able individuals and the involvement of Voldemort. Whenever someone demands you to give up your safeword in reality, run.

**  
  
Chapter Nineteen**  
  
Li Mei looked interested at the man sitting at the opposite end of the dinner’s table. His features blurred and altered continuously. It was an impressive enhancement to the Disillusionment Charm; Mei was certain others would not be able to describe who had sat opposite from her nor would they be able to tell the man’s physic had altered. She’d even seen the waitress almost forgetting his presence when she took their orders. She had to applaud the ingenuity, even if the show was totally wasted on her. But she didn’t feel the need to inform the man she could see right through his little disguise. He had a cute little brown beard and amazing eyes, and this way she could stare without being considered impolite or obvious.   
  
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ she sneered. ‘Aren’t you Nathaira’s closest confidant?’   
  
She knew perfectly well Nathaira’s only confidant was, well, Nathaira; but the man had to have something – she was told he was a part of her inner circle and it wasn’t like You-Know-Who didn’t stick out in a crowd.   
  
‘I haven’t seen him nor has she eluded she was meeting him,’ the cute bearded fellow said with a voice that changed pitch and timbre too.   
  
 _Real impressive charm indeed. His true voice was nice though._  
  
‘I doubt this rumour is true,’ Mr. Amazing Eyes continued. ‘She despises the man and his blood. More than once I’ve had to listen to her tirades about the idiocy of his pureblood supporters, considering how grossly unworthy the man they are following is. I can’t think of a reason for her to suddenly change her credo. You can say a lot about Sharasvati, but she has never been a hypocrite. Her actions and words have always been in complete accordance.’   
  
He leaned back and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was risking his cover over something this insane. If the dark witch found out he was an Unspeakable, life as he knew it was over. Nathaira didn’t take kindly to being stabbed in the back. One of his colleagues had now taken permanent residence in a padded crib; there, he did nothing but lay on his side, sucking his thumb, making baby noises all day long. They’d never found a remedy and had no clue to the original curse used that caused his condition. Wishing his minister would grow a spine and tell the Chinese to piss off and clean their own houses, he still spoke reassuringly to the Chinese lady across the table. Well, he did have a thing for Chinese women and there was something about the way she held herself that screamed power to him. He loved powerful women. It’s why he had volunteered for the Nathaira assignment after all. But Nathaira was too dangerous to bed; she was known to kill her lovers rather creatively after she got bored with them. He might think with his dick from time to time, but even it was frightened of her. It was, however, very happy right now, while he watched the cute, petite witch across the table. Thank Isis for wide robes.   
  
‘Besides, Sharasvati can go around her business mainly undisturbed,’ he explained further. ‘She is not killing people left, right, and centre. The only ones she tortures are those stupid enough to go near her. She is not opting to take over the world. This is why my government is content with keeping low level tracks on her actions. If she allies herself with Him, well, that would change things rapidly. She can’t afford it.’  
  
Mei sighed and leaned her face in her hands. Merlin, this was useless. As ridiculous and unlikely as it sounded, Albus wouldn’t have warned her if he had no solid intelligence on the possibility of an alliance between these two dangerous individuals. Riddle and Nathaira together, the threat that concept held made her skin crawl. It must not come to pass. And she most certainly didn’t want that man anywhere near her candidate. She’d not picked Nathaira as a guide to Luna Lovegood only for her logical mind; the fact that the witch was the only dark Keeper not afraid of Riddle and stationed at the other end of the planet had been another reason. To think that now the uptight bitch was considering working together with him, so she could use his altered Nightmare Curse on Luna, made Li Mei want to go caving in order to be able to curse Nathaira’s hypocritical arse all the way to that famous ancestor of hers.   
  
‘Our intelligence sho-’ Li Mei fell silent. For a brief second, a red owl flashed behind the man’s back. ‘My apologies for disturbing you,’ she said politely, rising from her chair abruptly. ‘I hope this was not too big an inconvenience for you. My government is very grateful for all the assistance that’s been provided.’  
  
Crack.   
  
Baffled, the man stared at the empty spot before him. ‘Bloody Chinese,’ he muttered with a severely disappointed appendage.   
  
\---  
  
His arms were firmly locked around her waist, holding her tightly. ‘If this is supposed to be helpful,’ Hermione said through gritted teeth, ‘then it’s not having the desired effect.’  
  
‘How come?’ Voldemort asked teasingly.   
  
‘You are distracting me.’  
  
‘I am?’ he said in faux amazement and acting positively delighted.   
  
She scowled.   
  
He sniggered. ‘You needn’t let unimportant trivialities enter your mind when you are concentrating on your casting.’  
  
Now, it was Hermione’s turn to act positively delighted. ‘So, you admit you’re an unimportant triviality?’ she teased, shaking with laughter.   
  
He scowled.   
  
‘Self-control is an essential factor in Controlled Casting. It’s obvious from your cheek, you have very little of it. Perhaps I should improve your self-control by,’ he moved her hair to the side and whispered against her skin, ‘punishing you?’  
  
A shudder ran through her and she closed her eyes in anticipation. Oh Merlin, yes, that was exactly what she wanted. The last time he had taken her he’d been so bloody careful. Sure, he’d been dominant; he always was, and it had been nice, but she felt like she needed something more, something not nice – surely, Lord Voldemort could provide her with that. If not, she was kind of running out of ideas on eligible candidates.   
  
‘Yesss,’ he hissed softly. ‘You need to be taught to respect your superiors.’   
  
‘Going to introduce me to one?’ Hermione said cheeky, adding fuel to the flames. If this response didn’t give him a clue, she was going for cursing him next.   
  
‘You naughty little witch,’ he hissed, realising full well she’d baited him on purpose.   
  
His wand flashed, and she swayed on her feet as the world around her became less and less solid. He’d taken away her ability to comprehend what was happening logically. Everything around her would seem strange, unrecognisable, frightening, surreal, and out of control. He was her only anchor. Smirking, he stepped away, pulling her wand from her hand. Without any means to undo her current situation, he let her standing there, alone, in a haze. In an arc he strolled around her, just out of her reach but close enough to witness her every expression and gesture.   
  
Confusion was the predominant emotion she exhibited, confusion mixed with apprehension and if he was not very much mistaken a hint of excitement. He frowned. He was not mistaken. Perhaps he had been too careful with her the last time. He’d recognised her need to be dominated and her obvious masochistic nature, but he hadn’t taken it very far. She was so young, inexperienced, and he still needed her for his future plans. It wouldn’t do to scare her away by pulling all the stops.   
  
And it would scare her away; he had plenty of experience with either not caring about the damage he did or easing women into his preferred sexual endeavours slowly, so they could satisfy him multiple times. He had taken a step back when he had taken Hermione for the first time with a clear head on her part, but it seemed to have been an error of judgement to only dominate her without anything else. It wouldn’t do to bore her to death. Patience wasn’t exactly one of her virtues. He smirked. When had he got into the ridiculous situation, that he – Lord Voldemort – actually had been too careful around someone?   
  
He stretched his arms above his head and folded them in front of him afterward. Rolling his wand between his clasped palms, he contemplated on how to proceed, while he observed the little witch in front of him meticulously. She wanted to be submissive, but she wouldn’t be to just anyone. If you showed weakness, she would rain on your parade big time. So, he could be as controlling and domineering as he liked to be. That was not an issue. Both physically and magically he outmatched her, so he wouldn’t even have to cause harm to restrain and subdue her. However, she obviously wanted him to punish her, but the question remained how much could she take right off the bat?   
  
Carving? Too soon. Whipping? Nope, too damaging too; anything that caused serious damage was out for a first-timer. The body’s endorphins would not be able to make such experiences pleasurable yet – not without conditioning first. A flogger might do. He narrowed his eyes. Or it could be too much. Still, flogging could be varied in intensity easily. Spanking would be the obvious choice to start, but Hermione was everything but obvious. He had a feeling it would bore her. When he had bitten her, she had enjoyed it. He had licked her blood away and she hadn’t been revolted. No, spanking was too tame for her. It wouldn’t scare her one bit. Flogging, it was … with a safe-word.   
  
He rolled his eyes. He absolutely despised the idea of safe-words. Whenever someone made one up beforehand, he made it his mission to push them further and further, until they said it; after which he would show them exactly who they had relinquished themselves to, because then, the show would truly begin and he only stopped when he was good and well done, which was never when the other party wanted it to be over.   
  
But he wasn’t going to destroy Hermione, so a safe-word was a viable method to make sure he didn’t go too far with her. The corner of his mouth curled upward. Time to get this show on the road.   
  
Hermione knew it wasn’t real. Her mind kept telling her she was still in that same mirrored room, that she had been cursed by Lord Voldemort, yet her senses told her differently. She stood in this fogged world, or was she sitting, lying? She couldn’t tell. Just when she thought she had an idea, it slipped from her grasp. Her eyes wouldn’t focus; she looked at her hands, which she knew had to be there, but she saw a blur. She touched her face with her fingers and it felt like she pushed against clouds. Was she even here? Her ears picked up this high continuous whistle that seemed to come from all sides. She couldn’t determine the origin or if the sound was real. Was she real?   
  
Confused, she waved with her hand through the mist. She wanted to step forward, but couldn’t remember how. Somewhat apprehensive she realised she had no control at all about what was happening to her. She had no control over anything. By Godric, that really shouldn’t turn her on as much as it did. But her fluids stained her knickers, betraying the true extend of her arousal. Her heart picked up the pace, adrenaline pushed through her veins, and she licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry; or was that an illusion too?   
  
Long, spidery fingers touched her cheek. She knew they were real. He made her skin feel real where he touched her. Her eyes followed the line of the extremely white, almost translucent skin of his arm till she reached his elbow where the black sleeve of his robes had dropped to, and she traced that line of darkness all the way up to his burning red eyes. He was right there. Perhaps if she touched him, everything would feel normal again? Instinctively, she stepped toward him, but his other hand landed on her chest, holding her at bay.   
  
‘No, my dear, you haven’t earned that privilege yet,’ he said quietly.   
  
 _Oh._  Hermione bit her lip and swallowed apprehensively. She hugged her arms around her waist, but it didn’t feel right.  
  
He smirked at her. His eyes sparkled and he stepped closer. She could see him fully now, but she still was unable to make sense of everything else, including her body with the exception of where he touched her. Slowly, the hand on her chest moved to join the one stroking her face. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. It felt nice. She could feel him move to her and her hands moved to him.   
  
‘Don’t,’ he ordered coldly, grabbing her head firmly between his hands.   
  
Her eyes flew open and she froze, seeing the icy and warning glare he sent her way. Her heart pounded in her throat. Merlin, this was really happening. It wasn’t a safe fantasy or harmless daydream. Doubt began to mix into her darker desires. Should she want this to really happen? She probably shouldn’t. This wasn’t something you were supposed to want. People would be disgusted with her. She was suppose to be a-  
  
‘Good girl,’ he purred, disrupting her internal dialogue. ‘Now listen very carefully, Hermione, because I will only say this once. Your continued insolence will stop here. I will not stand-,’ he lowered his hands to her collar, making sure not to hold the chain of the necklace between his fingers, ‘-for any more defiance or backtalk.’ She jerked slightly when he ripped her shirt to pieces violently. The bits of fabric fell all around her to the floor; one piece remained stuck behind the bra on her back, tickling her skin. His hands returned to her head. ‘I will, however, be lenient to your previous indiscretions.’   
  
Lenient? What was wrong with him? Had someone used Polyjuice Potion to try to pass - rather pathetically if you asked her opinion - as the Dark Lord? Lenient, pah! Screw lenient; if she wanted lenient, she’d taken Krum. Fine! If her previous actions would not do it, she’d give him some new indiscretions to take under consideration. Let’s see how long it would take her to shred this newfound, totally undesirable and unattractive leniency of him. Seconds, she betted on seconds; milliseconds if she could strike a nerve. Oh, she knew just the thing.   
  
‘Leniency?’ she mocked. ‘So, Tom Rid-’   
  
Fury flew through his snakelike features, his body, and his magic; everywhere around her the air charged violently. It pounded against her, made her sway on her feet. His fingers pressed her lips together before she could finish the name or utter anymore sounds. ‘Do not even attempt to provoke me with that name, Granger,’ he hissed, digging his fingers into her skin painfully, while his left hand closed around her throat.   
  
 _Milliseconds. Time to collect her winnings._  
  
‘Remember you are at my mercy. And even though killing you is not an option at the moment, I could make you wish it was.’   
  
He leaned into her face; the closer he got, the more invasive his magic flowed against her skin. She didn’t think he was doing it deliberately at the moment, which made it all the more terrifying, especially since he wasn’t even holding his wand now. His right hand stroked her cheek roughly before settling at the back of her neck, while his other hand was still in place around her throat; and he whispered against her lips, ‘I could make you beg for death.’  
  
Hermione swallowed and looked down.  _Okay, too big a price, definitely no Polyjuice around anywhere._  Silence thrummed around her, making his threats even more ominous. The lack of control she had over this situation was exciting and frightening to her. She was an inherent control-freak, but she longed to let go and be in that peaceful position again where things were not her responsibility. Anxious, she met his eyes again; his face turned expectant – apparently, he waited for something. Oh, of course.  
  
‘Sorry, my Lord, I forgot myself.’  
  
‘Yes, you did,’ he replied, waiting.  
  
‘It won’t happen again,’ she said humbly.  
  
He tilted his head questioningly.  
  
‘Master,’ she added quickly.  
  
He observed her, unmoving, weighing her obedience, before he moved his right hand into her hair. ‘You will be punished,’ he continued evenly. ‘But I feel…’ he tilted his head, ‘forgiving,’ he said with a mocking undertone in his voice. ‘So you will be allowed the privilege of a safe-word.’   
  
‘A whaa?’   
  
Hermione coughed. Air rattled past her closing windpipe, as Lord Voldemort squeezed his fingers around her throat calmly. ‘I did not give you permission to speak,’ he said coolly.   
  
She turned light-headed; the world became a dizzying place; she gasped for air, but he quickly captured her mouth with his; her eyes fluttered as her lungs protested; he pulled her against him when her legs caved and he let go of her neck. Her chest expanded and tried to pull in as much fresh air through her nose as possible, but through her mouth she breathed in so much more than mere oxygen. She witnessed the electrifying sensation of his dark magic swirling down and she couldn’t stop it. Her body was in an automatic protect mode, determined to stop the undesirable lack of oxygen situation. It didn’t care what else came with it.   
  
And when the world became a shining blinding darkness, a melting thing, Hermione stopped caring too. Noises passed her lips into his mouth that were too primitive to be screams; she shuddered in his arms, trembling as waves and waves of endless pleasure rolled through her. She was done. You could stick a fork in her to prove it. She was definitely cooked. Her muscles wouldn’t cooperate at all, and she basically hung in his arms feeling boneless. He removed his mouth from hers and looked down smirking.   
  
‘And this is just the beginning, my dear,’ he whispered, laughing when he saw her distraught expression at that.   
  
Something hard and cold clasped around her wrists. He let go of her at the same time her arms flung upward, and suddenly, she found herself dangling in the air on her arms. She looked up and was just able to see the metal chains, which disappeared into that mist that surrounded her – though, the fog stayed at a considerable distance now and no longer invaded her body and senses. Hermione wondered why those chains wouldn’t cut into her skin. Her full weight hung on her wrists. She frowned. He had to have done something to those shackles. It should hurt, shouldn’t it? Not that she was complaining, but it intrigued her.   
  
However, what was uncomfortable was the feeling in her shoulders. It felt like her arms were trying to pop from their sockets and dislodge themselves from her torso, so they could stretch out further. Her body swayed back and forth from her movements and she looked around, but all she saw was that stupid mist. Where had he gone off to? Merlin, he wasn’t going to leave her hanging here, was he?   
  
A stream of profanities inspired by years of being near Ron’s not so eloquent vocabulary left her lips. Yep, she knew who was to blame for her decline in word choice. She still remembered the appalled looks and reprimands her parents gave her after she came home for her first summer vacation. “Cursing shows a lack of intelligence, young lady. If you have nothing better to support your statements with, it might be prudent to say nothing.” And, of course, the one very suited to her situation now, “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”   
  
Ugh. Well, she knew one alleged Lord she wanted to kick into his vain butt, and there was nothing holy or divine about him. She glanced up again. Perhaps if she yanked hard enough, she could break those chains?   
  
Yeah, yeah, she wouldn’t put money on it succeeding either. But eh, she had to try. In the end, she regretted putting more strain on her shoulders, which began to throb threateningly with a slow increasing ache. Hermione growled.   
  
‘You do realise you can stand if you stop swinging around?’ an amused voice spoke behind her.  
  
She collided into him and strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, steadying her. ‘Standing?’ she commented sarcastically over her shoulder when she noticed her toes were all that reached the floor.   
  
‘Well,’ he said, looking up, ‘I can raise them if you prefer?’   
  
‘Or you could lower them,’ she suggested.  
  
‘Nah, that’s no fun.’   
  
‘My shoulders and I have to disagree with that,’ Hermione complained; but she wasn’t complaining about his arms holding her tightly around her waist, supporting her weight, and by doing so, taking some of the pressure of her joints.   
  
He smirked. ‘No pain, no gain.’  
  
‘Got yourself a phrase and saying day-to-day calendar?’ she sneered.   
  
He clicked his tongue, while shaking his head. ‘You should really learn to rein in that mouth of yours.’   
  
Her eyes widened when he removed one of his arms from her waist, causing her to be slightly less supported again. She felt his fingers roam through her hair next and she waited for the inevitable yank that occurred not much later. Why did she always go weak in her knees when he pulled on her hair? She had no logical explanation for that. He used it like a fucking leash and she was no bloody animal – it was degrading, definitely sexist. She shouldn’t enjoy it. It shouldn’t make her feel safe, at ease, and peaceful. Pulling on your hair did not constitute any of those things. It didn’t. He moved his fingers through her curls.  
  
Merlin, if he removed his hand from her hair, she was going to kick him in his shin – hard.   
  
But all he did was get a tighter grip, and she met that blank stare of his in quiet expectation. ‘But don’t worry,’ he continued softly, ‘you and your insolent tongue will be taught respect and reverence soon.’   
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. Reverence?  _Okaaaaay,_  someone in this room was in desperate need of a reality-check and it wasn’t her. Reverence, pffttt… the combination of that word in relationship to the person standing behind her… well, she would snort if she wasn’t worried it would turn into an outburst of mocking laughter. And it wasn’t nice to make fun of the mentally ill.   
  
‘Once more your Occlumency has dropped significantly in performance,’ Voldemort observed smoothly. ‘Something else you want to add to the growing list of punishment reasons? I don’t mind,’ he added blankly, letting go of her waist and inspecting his fingernails in fake interest.   
  
Hermione swayed on her toes, grimacing as she swung away from him, which put undo pressure on her hair-roots since he had not let go of her hair.   
  
‘I have all the time in the world and … it’s not me, who has to suffer through it,’ he ended deadpan.   
  
She glared at him.  
  
‘You ask, I deliver, my sweet little Gryffindor. Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before badmouthing me on the off chance I may punish you. And I strongly apprise you to remember to only speak when given permission.’  
  
Lord Voldemort pulled her against him again. Only now his arm was locked around her back and her chest pressed tightly to his. Her feet no longer reached the ground and he’d pulled her head back so far, she worried her neck might snap from the strain. She only had a partial view on his face, since her arms were now very much in the way; but his blank expression didn’t supply her with clues even in full view, so it didn’t matter much. Hermione was able to bend her arms now and she took full advantage of the possibility to relieve her shoulders.   
  
‘Now before we got distracted I believe I offered you the option of a safe-word. Since Lord Voldemort always keeps his end of the bargain that option will remain available to you, even though your impudent actions and saucy responses after my most generous offer clearly indicate said option is unearned and unwarranted.’ He waited briefly, but Hermione wasn’t foolish and she didn’t open her mouth again, even though her curiosity went through the roof and she was practically bursting with questions. ‘Perhaps there still is one functioning brain-cell in there?’ he questioned, glancing at her forehead mockingly. ‘You may speak.’  
  
‘What’s a safe-word?’ Hermione blurted out immediately.  
  
‘If the pain becomes too much and you need it to stop, you say your safe-word and it will end,’ he explained.   
  
‘Why-?’ she halted.  _Crap, she did it again._  
  
‘One more indiscretion,’ Voldemort counted happily. ‘It’s becoming quite an impressive number, Hermione; you might want to stop, while it’s still in the two digits arena.’   
  
Why, on earth, was he adding them up? What possible use could that have? Anal, definitely anal that desire of his to keep track of everything. But she still had loads of questions about this safe-word-thingy and he wasn’t explaining it.  
  
‘Go ahead, ask.’  
  
‘Why not simply use stop?’   
  
‘Anything that could be used for pleading is unacceptable,’ he said, smirking down at her.   
  
 _Pleading? In his dreams._    
  
‘Also “stop” or “no, please don’t”,’ he mimicked the despair of others mockingly, ‘tends to … fuel my desire to up the ante.’  
  
 _Gee, surprise, surprise._  
  
‘So wha-?’ she shut her mouth and closed her eyes when his cheerfulness reached new heights.   
  
‘You’re going to need that safe-word, little blabbermouth,’ he sniggered. ‘Let’s make it “golden” for you, since you obviously are a dim-witted Gryffindor and to remind you what silence is worth.’  
  
 _See, definitely a day-to-day calendar._  
  
She frowned; the inherent flaw in that safe-word system had come to mind. Smirking triumphantly, she opened her mouth uncaring, ‘So if I say golden, everything stops?’   
  
 _Wow, this punishment thing was going to be soooo hard._  
  
‘Only if you truly can’t take anymore. If you abuse the privilege, it will be taken away,’ he crushed that plan smoothly. ‘And that was another one; want to add two more and reach the three digits or…?’ he added, pausing threateningly, ‘are you going to be smart and enquire to what it entails first?’   
  
Several smart aleck remarks danced temptingly at the forefront of her mind and it pained her to swallow them, but she figured something that made him rejoice in glee at her expense was definitely worth figuring out first. His continued silence and her building curiosity made her want to scream out in frustration, but that would be a waste of a perfectly fine wisecrack she hadn’t made.   
  
Carefully, he lowered her to her feet, well, toes, and vanquished her skirt. Since it was summer and damn hot, she had no stockings on and was left in her open shoes, knickers, bra, that stupid piece of cloth still dangling on her back, and his necklace. His eyes moved from her face to her feet and up again, and he tucked at the elastic band on her knickers teasingly. ‘With ninety-eight I doubt those will provide much protection. You can keep them on.’   
  
Protection? Okay, she was beginning to get worried.  
  
He stepped away from her and whipped his wand to the side, conjuring an almost alive-looking mannequin. He twirled it around, so its back was to her. Another swish of his wand and he held some kind of many tailed whip in his hand.  _He had to be shitting her._  
  
But he swung it around expertly, and she jerked when, with a sharp crack, it impacted on the doll.  _Crap, ninety-eight._  While he disposed of the dummy rather violently, she felt the blood drain from her face.  _Mummy!_  He turned his head to her, gloating. Slowly, he stepped sideways, twirling the handle of the whip causing the endings to land in his other hand softly. Maliciously, he held it out in front of her, so she got an up close and personal look at the black suede that formed the many cords.   
  
‘You can’t whip someone ninety-eight times,’ Hermione blurted out fearfully. ‘That’s lethal, especially with so many – er – tails.’  
  
‘Flog someone ninety- …  _nine_  times,’ Voldemort corrected her, smirking. ‘This is called a flogger not a whip; those are falls not tails. And I promise you, dear, it’s all in the wrist. You’ll live, and I won’t damage you beyond repair.’   
  
Lord Voldemort sniggered at how aghast she seemed and stepped right next to her, tracing her curves with the falls teasingly. Abruptly, he yanked the leftover cloth of her shirt that still dangled on the back of her bra away, making the elastic snap back in place with a sharp sting. She let out a shocked yip. Leaning into her ear, his breath brushed her skin as he whispered, ‘You will feel my wrath, Granger, and I will remind you not to cry uncle or in your case “golden” before you really need it, because Lord Voldemort will know when you lie and,’ he traced her jaw with the flogger, ‘you don’t want to lose your safe-word privilege, now do you?’ He pushed her chin up and she met his eyes in clear resignation.   
  
‘Granger?’  
  
She shook her head quietly in response, and bit her lip when he moved behind her. Trying to see what he was doing, she turned her head, lost her footing, and swung back and forth in her bounds.   
  
‘Eyes forward,’ he barked, withdrawing his uplift swing in haste. ‘If I hit your face, it will take weeks and some very ghastly Dark Arts Potions to undo the damage.’  
  
Even more frightened now than before, Hermione kept her head in position as she tried to catch her footing again. When she did, her muscles tensed from the stress. She closed her eyes and grinded her teeth together, waiting for that first blow. And she jumped when Lord Voldemort placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up sideways where he stood. He watched her intently before he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she sent him a weak smile in return, relaxing a bit. It was when the first blow hit her buttocks. Her shocked reaction was more in surprise than pain, because he hadn’t struck her hard.   
  
‘One,’ he said evenly and another soft blow hit her at the same spot. ‘Two.’ He continued to flog her bottom with those less forceful swings, while his other hand rested on her shoulder. It steadied her, feeling his hand there, and she began to relax. Her skin tingled and heated up where he flogged her. Her eyes fluttered and her lips parted in reaction. A sensation of loss overcame her when his hand left her shoulder and he began moving around her, targeting her upper back now. Counting every swing out loud, so she’d know how many more there were to come.   
  
‘Feel free to yell, scream, shout, or whatever when you need to, my little apprentice; just make sure not to disrespect me while doing so,’ he spoke ever so detached, while her back blossomed with red marks, which began to take hold. ‘Fourteen.’ Another low key swoosh had her quivering from head to toe. Her back wasn’t the only place to be heated and tingling now. She licked her lips. The idea of getting punished by someone capable of overpowering her had always been a secret, dark fantasy of her, but she had no idea in advance it would be this erotic.   
  
‘Fifteen,’ he paused for a moment. ‘Hmmm…’ she heard him contemplate. ‘This was supposed to be punishment I believe,’ he said in an amused tone. Lord Voldemort flourished the flogger around, and with a sharp sound of something heavy hitting flesh, he upped the ante indeed. ‘Sixteen,’ he commented calmly through her pain-filled shriek.   
  
Hermione blinked; low on her shoulder-blade, a stinging pain thrummed in her skin, enhanced further by every breath she took. She swore. Air moved against her skin and she tensed just before the second swat struck her mercilessly. She cried out. ‘Seventeen.’   
  
When he reached twenty, he halted in front of her, smirking at her infuriated indignation. ‘Kiss me,’ he ordered.   
  
‘Are you crazy!?’ she hollered, enraged.   
  
‘One-hundred in total,’ he proclaimed triumphantly, cupping her cheek. ‘Still not enough self-control; tsk, tsk, tsk. What am I to do with you?’  
  
Hermione gaped; her mouth opened and closed like a fish on land. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t!  
  
‘Care to withdraw five of the total?’ he offered, leaning into her. ‘Just one kiss,’ he added lightly.   
  
Quickly, Hermione kissed him on his cheek and leaned back, grinning. He hadn’t specified a location after all.   
  
Voldemort snorted, shaking his head. ‘Ninety-five,’ he conceded. He wrapped his arms around her waist; making her flinch, as he pulled her against his body. ‘Five more for a real one.’  
  
Narrowing her eyes, she considered it. ‘What constitutes as real?’ she asked finally, not wanting to fall into that trap.   
  
‘You’ve spoken out of turn.’  
  
‘You said I could yell or whatever as long as I was not disrespectful,’ she retorted. ‘My Lord,’ she added quickly.  
  
‘Slippery Granger,’ he complimented. ‘One that satisfies me.’  
  
‘Very subjective terms.’  
  
‘Take it or leave it,’ he breathed on her lips, tightening his grip.  
  
‘You’re hurting me,’ she breathed back hoarsely, captured in his gaze and arms.  
  
‘Excellent,’ he whispered. ‘Last chance to lose those five.’  
  
With a sigh, she pressed her lips to his and opened her mouth obediently. He nibbled on her upper lip, trailing his tongue over it, while she licked his lower lip. Hermione tilted her head and they deepened the kiss. Fingers trailed over her pink, and at some places deep red back; he silenced her whimpers by demanding her full attention with that delicious thing he was doing with his mouth. In the end she let out a moan, even though he was just trailing a more ferocious red stripe underneath her shoulder. He stepped back, keeping her steady by her shoulders, until she caught her balance.   
  
‘Ninety,’ he said softly.   
  
He Accio-ed the flogger with one hand, while his other hand moved down the front of her body. She gasped when his fingers delved into her knickers, playing with her curls briefly. ‘It’s quite wet here,’ he said, smirking down at her, while he pushed her folds apart and rubbed his fingers between them over that sensitive nub.   
  
She let out a strangled sound, bucked against him, and dangled from her wrists again, not able to keep her legs from supporting her on her toes alone. With a sharp crack, the falls impacted on her back again. She swayed back and forth. Her strangled cry of pleasure mixed with a loud pain-filled yowl. Quickly, he slid his finger to her entrance and investigated the opening. Pleased with how wide she was, he glanced at her. ‘Still willing and ready. You are quite the little closet masochist, aren’t you? Well, let’s see how much you enjoy the rest of your disciplining, Granger.’   
  
More sharp cracks landed on her back and buttocks with small pauses between, so she felt each blow to its full extend. ‘Twenty-two … twenty-three … twenty-four.’   
  
She yelled, cried, and howled in pain. Not attempting to gain her footing anymore, she just hung there as her backside became one blur of continuous stinging, like it was filled with long scratches all over. Yet, she felt no blood trickling down. She flinched as he stroked her back; his fingers against her skin felt smooth – extremely painful but still smooth. He blew his cold breath across her spine, making her shiver from head to toe again. His hands came to rest on the base of her neck. He followed the path of his necklace from back to front, snaking his hands through the narrow opening her arms left him. Hermione leaned her head back against his chest. His hands lowered further, skimming past the lace of her bra before he hissed, ‘Lose the underwear and I’ll cut the total number in halve.’  
  
Halve? Immediately, Hermione nodded her head in agreement. It wasn’t much protection anyway. The last of her clothing vanquished with a little twirl of his wand. ‘Forty-five in total,’ he said, replacing the wand for the flogger in a fluent motion. ‘And we are at twenty-seven,’ he yanked her bruised back against him; she bit her lip not to scream. ‘I’m going to make every single one of those blows count, Hermione,’ he hissed. ‘After all, your success in casting is at stake here. And in order for you to remember this is to teach you self-control, you will thank me in a polite and respectful manner from hereon after every strike. Is that clear?’  
  
‘Ye-yes,’ she stuttered.   
  
‘Yes, Master,’ he corrected.   
  
‘Yes, Master,’ Hermione repeated.   
  
Abruptly, he pushed her away. She caught a glimpse of him whipping the flogger through the air. It was a short moment to come to terms that his technique looked different when, with a resonant thud, the falls drummed on her buttocks. Her scream was ear-piercing, agonising, and came from the top of her voice. This was a more broadly felt deep muscle impact, so unlike the ones he’d administered before, and tears sprung in her eyes. Hermione tried desperate to hold them back. No, no, no, she was not weak. He wasn’t going to make her cry; she could do this – she’d show him.   
  
‘Twenty-seven,’ he counted.   
  
She heard him tapping the flogger in his hand, while she grasped at straws to regain her composure and catch her breath. From the corner of her eye, she saw him standing; his black robes swayed around his tall frame, while he now stroked those falls through his long fingers, waiting casually for her response, seemingly unobservant to her internal struggles. He lifted his head and looked straight at her, waiting.   
  
Oh no! No, no, no, he was really going to make her say it. Her face turned red and the air seemed suffocating all of the sudden, oppressive, demanding and unmovable. She inhaled again and again and again, but there was no relief. Inhale. She choked. Inhale. Air, she needed air. Inhale. A purple dash impacted on her chest, pushing her ribcage together. All surplus air wheezed out in a laboured exhale; she could breathe again. She could breathe again.   
  
‘You have a safe-word, Granger,’ Voldemort said, eyeing her intensely to see if the panic really subsided.   
  
She shook her head. ‘Don’t need it,’ she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head again. Her hair flew around her face.   
  
‘Already you’ve held on longer than I expected you to,’ he added quietly.   
  
She smiled with pride behind curtains of frizzy curls. She was going to hold on longer. Hermione Granger was no quitter. She’d started this; she would finish – till the end. It was just three little words; it wouldn’t hurt her to speak them. She was strong enough to do this. Determined, her jaw was set. Hermione looked up and met his eyes, unwavering. ‘Thank you, Master,’ she spoke clearly.   
  
They gazed at each other silently. Finally, he bowed his head in a nod and whirled his wand around to conjure a new flogger with slightly thicker and longer strands. She had no time to examine it, because he jabbed his wand at it and it flew through the air on its own. Lord Voldemort folded his arms and watched her meticulously. It didn’t make the wait any easier. ‘Twenty-eight,’ he said, snapping his fingers, and with a dull sounding swoop, she got struck again.   
  
These swoops were harsh, overwhelming, but less variable in impact as when he administered them himself. And as he continued, counting further and further; traitorous tears fell down her cheeks; her throat was sore; her voice hoarse from all her screams; the pain too much to bear on both her back as well as in her arms or her calves, but she did not use her safe-word nor was she going to beg. She wasn’t going to. No, no, no.   
  
‘Thirty-five.’   
  
Just ten more, she could hold on – it was just ten more.   
  
A blinding flash, two hands gripped her underneath her armpits, and she collapsed against him; her arms fell over his shoulders when the shackles sprung lose. A sob left her lips and she trembled severely, as he pulled her along with him to sit down in the chair that hovered into his knees. She straddled him, a leg on each side of the chair, facing the back against which he calmly sat, holding her gently, stroking through her hair. Her arms hung uselessly around his neck, while she’d buried her face into his robes. The tension of having to hold on disappeared in his arms, his caress. Her shoulders shook, and she began sobbing uncontrollable. With a quick wand-wave, the flogger remained motionless in midair and the chair tilted back; so she was more lying than sitting on top of him.  
  
‘Shhhh,’ he hushed, patting her, ‘it’s alright; I’m right here; it’s alright. You’ve pleased me, my pet.’  
  
He held her like that for awhile, stroking her hair. Hermione had moved one arm to his front. Gripping the fabric of his robe next to her face, she clung to him, calming down slowly. ‘You understand now what’s expected of you as an apprentice, don’t you Hermione?’ he spoke soothingly.   
  
Silently, she nodded in quick short bursts.   
  
‘Tell me, my sweet.’  
  
‘Let go,’ she replied hoarsely, barely audible.  
  
‘To achieve what?’  
  
‘E-explore all of me.’ Her nose sniffed.   
  
‘Where lies your path?’  
  
‘With you.’  
  
‘Very good,’ he purred. ‘You will be given some additional material to study and you will practise casting every spell mentioned in that book. Is that understood?’  
  
‘Yes, my Lord,’ she whispered, rasping. Her throat was dry and it hurt when she spoke from all her screams. The tip of his wand pricked into the side of her neck. It felt like a hot draught glided down her throat, followed by delicious soft and cold ice-cream. She closed her eyes and savoured the feeling. He removed his wand silently. ‘Thank you,’ Hermione said, her voice back to normal.   
  
‘We will finish your punishment now,’ he said quietly, feeling her still against his body immediately.   
  
Hermione bit her lip; she could feel tears threaten to start flowing again. She thought it was over. She thought he’d been satisfied with her performance. Hermione lifted her head, beseeching him with her eyes. His face was blank; it gave her nothing. Her lip quivered. He was serious, she could tell. He wasn’t going to stop, until he had administered every blow he told her beforehand. She couldn’t do this again, hanging there alone. Not after he’d taken her in his arms. Lying in his lap, his hand caressing her hair, it felt so safe. She felt taking care of – like nothing could harm her. Maybe… if…  
  
‘Can?’ she started hesitantly, watching his face for clues if she was allowed to continue – he granted it with a slight head tilt. ‘Can I – would you – I,’ she stuttered. ‘I can’t do this alone,’ she said slightly desperate, not knowing how to voice her demand.  
  
He waited.  
  
‘Could you hold me?’ she whispered, her face red. ‘during?’   
  
Lord Voldemort took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. He was very pleased with the telling submissive request, but he didn’t want to show it. A little gesture, expression, a too big a demand, anything he did from hereon could screw up how far she’d come today. And so close to his goals, it would be maddening if he had to start over. He already knew he was going to grant the request – it established his dominance over her even further, but he was curious how much of herself she was willing to relinquish to him. Asking for reimbursement held the chance she would be unwilling to grant it, which would demand a too serious reprimand on his end to retain his control and ascendance over her. Or even worse, she could simply take control, use her safe-word, and everything would have been in vain. It was a huge risk. He looked back into her brown eyes; he was sure he saw a great deal of supplication in them. She wasn’t going to deny him.  
  
‘I could,’ he said slowly, ‘but…’ he watched her intently before finishing his sentence, ‘why would I support you if you’ve not surrendered to me fully? Why would I waste my time on holding someone who can’t lay her fate in my hands – someone who feels the need to maintain control?’  
  
Hermione blinked, confused. She had no idea what he talked about. What control? She didn’t feel she had any. And hadn’t she just said her path was with him? What more surrender could he possibly want?  
  
‘However, if you were to give up the right to use your safe-word and submit to me, I will grant you your request.’  
  
Hermione looked down. Her safe-word, she’d forgotten about it in his arms. She’d been so determined not to use it – to not show weakness and defeat by saying it. But there were still ten more strokes to come; she wasn’t sure she could take it all. He started stroking her hair again. She liked that. She didn’t want to lose this security either, and she would if she denied him. She didn’t want to deny him; she wanted his approval; she wanted him to be pleased with her. He wouldn’t be pleased if she said no now. He would put her back in those shackles again or find something even worse to do to her. She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. He smelled so right to her; everything about him felt so right to her. Could she do it? Let someone else take the steering wheel and not feel responsible for every little thing that happened? Not having to feel responsible – to really let go. She curled her fingers in his robes. The thought alone was so freeing, scary but freeing. Her mind screamed at her to accept this trade; it wanted the break.   
  
But her body told her it would hurt.   
  
 _You don’t mind pain._    
  
It would hurt a lot.   
  
 _He won’t cause irreparable damage. You can trust him with this. You want to._  
  
He’s Lord Voldemort!  
  
 _Exactly my point._  
  
‘Okay,’ Hermione whispered doubtfully.  
  
‘You do realise I won’t go easy on you?’ Lord Voldemort questioned. ‘You’ve already shown great insight, but I will not be a slacking teacher and diminish the impact of your lessons by not applying the right punishment for someone with your capabilities.’   
  
God, did he have to make everything harder by always emphasising on what she already considered to be her rapid decent into loco land? It was a deranged enough desire to want to be held by the one hurting you. She didn’t want to examine and analyse it; she was too worried what answers she would find.   
  
‘You can’t become a Keeper if you don’t know yourself,’ Voldemort said harshly. ‘You take one great step ahead by realising this apprenticeship is truly about learning yourself, and then, you take two back by worrying about the outcome. And you do this again and again. I have shown you the exquisite power of dark magic, and you fall, but it is superficial. You pretend to dive in, yet you hold something back. You do not give yourself fully, not to any side, not for long, not even to yourself. It’s why your last dream no longer contained a path, but was a mess filled with rejection.’ He grabbed her chin and removed her face from his robes. ‘To become truly powerful, to reach your full potential in magic, you need to give yourself fully without resistance, without struggling against those forces it’s compiled of. It’s part of the inherent nature of magic to demand the full attention of the person wielding it. You cannot control what you do not understand. By not wanting to understand what makes you tick, you effectively undermine the most basic tool you have in magic, namely yourself. So, if you don’t want to learn, go home and stop wasting my valuable time,’ he hissed, letting go of her chin abruptly.   
  
She dispensed with the urge to rub her bruising chin and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I-I want to learn. I want to let go. I tried, but after a while it scares me and then my mind tells me to stop,’ she denied his accusations forcefully. ‘I just don’t know why I can’t. I just don’t know how to do it,’ she ended whispering, avoiding his eyes. ‘I don’t know how,’ she repeated, sounding incredibly sad.  
  
He smirked. ‘That,’ he said triumphantly, ‘that, I can teach you.’   
  
A glimmer of hope shined through her sadness. Hermione looked up. ‘Will you?’  
  
‘I won’t give you a choice,’ he replied smugly, snapping his finger.   
  
Her back blossomed ferociously upon the impact of the flogger and while she yelled in pain, she felt incredibly relieved. He wasn’t giving up on her; he would teach her. He’d force her to let go. Lord Voldemort would force her to let go. She clutched to him, buried herself inside his robes, held him like he was all that was left in the world; while he counted through her punishment and surrender. He held her gently, as the flogger swirled down on her back drawing blood for the first time. And she took his comfort. Hermione lay in his arms; one hand stroked her hair, the other switched positions, giving her some indication where the next blow was not going to fall. She knew she couldn’t stop it anymore. She knew she was at his mercy, something he was not known to have a lot of. She knew Lord Voldemort would search for her boundaries and then cross them relentlessly. And it would hurt tremendously. But she felt so at peace. It was like a giant weight had been lifted of her chest. She didn’t have to make any decisions. He’d taken her choice away and all she had to do was obey. Nice and simple. No questions asked or even allowed. No answers required to give.   
  
‘Forty-three. Turn around,’ he ordered coldly, not caring about the blood pouring down on her back.   
  
Cautiously, Hermione tried to, but she collapsed back against him. Her body felt too battered to achieve the movement. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, her voice hoarse from all her screams again.  
  
‘You can and you will. Now.’  
  
There was no solace in his voice, nothing there to reason with or beseech upon. He, indeed, forced her to relinquish all control. In the end, after a long time filled with clumsy and painful movements, she completed the turn with a relieved sigh - she had made it.   
  
‘I knew you could make it on your own,’ Voldemort breathed into her ear. ‘You are doing very well, my pet.’   
  
His praise made her feel strangely proud and happy she’d done it. His hands caressed her naked, unblemished skin at the front of her body. It was in severe contrast with the dreadful mess that was her back. The flogger hovered threateningly in the air, and with a shock, she realised she was not afraid about what would come next. Her body was his to do with as he pleased. Some tension she hadn’t been aware of fled her being. Like she was on a high, the world seemed brighter, clearer, and more defined.   
  
‘Good, very good,’ he said, his voice was like velvet brushing over her body – she shivered.   
  
He swapped the flogger for the one he started with and the two last strokes barely graced her breasts. Her eyes shut, she floated. His arms were positioned tightly around her waist, but she floated – she floated in his care, his magic. She was safe yet not. She was dreaming yet awake, aware yet unconscious; she was everything at once when it happened. Something stirred and uncoiled inside her; something she kept locked at all times; the reason she had always, always kept a bit of herself to herself. The reason she never let go. It whirled out, grew astronomically, unstoppable, and frightening. It was inside of her yet it smashed into her like a freight train. A howl much like a wolf’s left her mouth as she thrashed in Lord Voldemort’s arms, but he didn’t let go when the magic turned violent. Sparks left her skin, and she felt his magic attach itself to hers, riding along. He held her when the power expanded rapidly beyond the limits of her body. It spread out and out and out, like a wind blowing out the candles, erasing all light in the area. It turned dark around her as it roared, shaking the very stone walls of Malfoy Mansion, moving onward and onward.   
  
Laughter reached her ears. Loud and glorious was his delight when it trashed his wards first and then the ancient Malfoy ones, as if it was slicing a piece of the softest cheesecake in the world. And still, it was not done. She couldn’t stop it; she didn’t want to stop it. It felt delicious to let her power flow out. After being afraid of this for so long, to stop oppressing it was beyond freeing. She was on top of the world. She could feel it all, trees, animals, plants, people as her magic spread to envelope them. Like the shockwave of a nuclear bomb, all that carefully contained energy moved forward, darkening the sky of Wiltshire County in a blink of an eye, and still, it was moving strong.   
  
\---  
  
Miles and miles away, in the lovely county of Devon, Molly Weasley walked outside. ‘Ginny! Harry! Tea’s ready!’   
  
‘What am I, invisible?’ Ron muttered disgruntled, causing Ginny to score one final point due to his lack in attention.   
  
The three of them raced on their broomsticks back to the Burrow and landed around Molly who looked pale at the sky behind them.   
  
‘Mum?’ Ginny asked, worried.   
  
The three teenagers turned their heads to the sky behind them. ‘What’s that?’ Ron blurted out, dumbfounded.   
  
Harry pulled his wand.   
  
‘Inside now, the three of you, quickly,’ Molly ordered, shoving Ginny to the door. ‘Remus, Tonks!’ she yelled frightened.  
  
‘Mu-um,’ Ginny objected to being the only one pushed indoors, and she held her wand to her side firmly.   
  
‘Vat is these?’ Fleur asked, staring at the sky. She was the first one outside before Remus and Tonks made it there too – wands drawn.   
  
With a roaring thunder, the Order and Ministerial Wards collapsed and everything turned dark around them.   
  
‘Harry!’ Remus yelled, his voice cracked.   
  
\---  
  
Almost simultaneously, in a damp obscure building in London, Albus Dumbledore swirled around. His wand held by his side.  
  
‘What on earth?’ Grindelwald muttered; his jaw dropped, as he walked to the window to stare at the approaching darkness astonished. ‘Oh for crying out loud, that’s why that maniac is missing. Nebi can’t get through.’  
  
‘My, my,’ Volkova commented impressed, as the room turned pitch-black. ‘You sure know how to pick them, Albus.’   
  
‘We can use some help here,’ Nathaira roared, outraged with the slacking Keepers. ‘It’s feeding on the wildness of that darkness.’  
  
‘Yes, stop admiring and do something to halt Granger’s magic from infiltrating ours,’ Li seconded the dark Keeper’s statement. ‘I can’t see shit.’  
  
Dumbledore flourished his wand above his head and fire lighted the room.   
  
‘A little more light magic,’ Nathaira ordered.   
  
Dumbledore increased the power.   
  
Nathaira swore, while moving quickly on her feet, continuing to jab, flick, whip, flip, and flash her wand rapidly. ‘It’s not doing it. The breach is widening thanks to that little display of uncontrolled dark magic. I need some real assistance,’ she said haughtily, insulting her fellow dark Keepers.   
  
Dubois shared a meaningful glance with Bouvier, while McFerlon mouthed “bitch” in the direction of Nathaira.  
  
‘Then, get me a bloody wand,’ Gellert ordered, looking around the people in the fire lit room expectantly.   
  
Everyone ignored him.   
  
He raised his hands into the air, irritated. ‘Fine, fine, let’s all die today, because we wouldn’t want the big bad wizard to hold a wand for a second.’  
  
‘Someone get Riddle!’ Petro yelled, wiping the sweat of his forehead. A whisk of dark light left the tip of his wand.  
  
‘If Nebi can’t get through, I won’t be able to either,’ Gellert replied, annoyed. He swooped down in the nearest comfortable chair and stretched his limbs out lazily, rubbing his hands in fake excitement. ‘Guess I have a ringside seat to the end of the world as we know it. Some popcorn would be nice.’  
  
\---  
  
Hermione sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. The end of her reach was in sight. She could feel the sheer emptiness like a hunger needing to be stilled.   
  
‘Now that is true raw power,’ Voldemort whispered in her ear, satisfied. ‘You’ve even healed yourself instinctively.’  
  
Stunned, Hermione realised he was right. Her back no longer hurt. She reached for it to check her skin with her hand, and it felt smooth; but he gave her no time to relish on this achievement.  
  
‘Can you pull your magic back in?’ asked Voldemort. ‘You’ve plunged a huge part of the UK into darkness.’ He sniggered. ‘Not that I mind, but I think some people might be upset and they’re bound to blame poor innocent me.’  
  
 _Yes, because poor innocent him had nothing to do with it._  Hermione rolled her eyes.  _Just learn to let go. Brilliant idea, someone should slap her on the head, hard, if she ever felt like trying that again._  ‘How am I supposed to pull it back in?’   
  
‘How do you feel?’  
  
‘Famished.’  
  
‘Mmm, then follow your instinct and eat.’  
  
‘Ermmm… eat? Eat what? Magic?’ she stared into the darkness incredulously.  
  
‘It’s merely a metaphor. Think about stilling your hunger,’ he explained.  
  
But no matter how hard she thought about that, nothing happened.   
  
‘Well, it was worth a try,’ Voldemort said after a while, completely unfazed. ‘It would have been astonishing had you succeeded without practise. Raw power is hard to tame and guide; it’s so uncontrollable.’   
  
He whipped out his wand and hers in one quick move. He pushed them both in her hand again and folded his hand around them. Hermione whimpered softly in meek protest. She was certain she’d pass out or worse if more of her magic got pulled from her body. Her action moments ago had already weakened her substantially.   
  
‘This is only so you can witness what I do. I’ve connected my magic with yours when you trust it out. I won’t need to draw anymore from you to make it return,’ he reassured her. ‘Now, watch the difference between controlled and uncontrolled power,’ he ordered.   
  
And then, he seemed to rip the very fabric of nature apart with a forceful swing of their wands. Hermione felt him flex his magic as if it was simply a giant muscle contracting. The way a Quidditch Chaser would hold back the Quaffle just before stretching out his arm to throw it away to score another point. But Lord Voldemort did not throw a measly Quaffle to fly through the air uncontrollable and open to outside influence after it left its thrower’s hand.   
  
No, the way his magic left their joined wands was better described by envisioning he launched multiple guided cruise missiles at once, trusting through the sky on different paths he had predestined carefully. What was more amazing was noticing his “missiles” stayed, somehow, connected to him. Snakelike they raced through the dark sky, curling around her dispersed magic. It seemed very fitting to him, Hermione thought.   
  
\---  
  
‘Watch your right, Petro,’ Gellert commented, tossing another popped corn in his mouth lazily.   
  
Petro scowled in his direction. His right side nearly got singed when a dark burst swirled to him.   
  
‘Warned you,’ Gellert taunted childlike. ‘Ah!’ he shouted out, looking at the dark sky outside the fire lit room. ‘He’s finally pulling that shit back. Nebi will be able to reach him soon. Guess my ringside seat will become even more exciting. Natty, leave that huge humungous opening for Tommy, pretty please. I’d love to see him sweat that one.’ He sniggered gleefully at the perspiring Sharasvati Nathaira, but he shook his head upon seeing Albus whirl around at the other end, equally in trouble. ‘Sure, everything is your responsibility,’ he muttered underneath his breath, glancing at the other light Keepers rather annoyed.   
  
\---  
  
Remus held up a fistful of blue flames in his hand, so Tonks could see what she was doing. It was hardly capable of lighting the room, but it was better than nothing.   
  
‘Why aren’t they attacking?’ Tonks asked; her wand swooshed and weaved new wards around the Weasley kitchen. ‘Our reinforcements have not arrived yet. He trashed all our wards to pieces, so he must know his target is here.’  
  
The target scratched his head apologetically, feeling guilty they were all in danger because of his presence. Ron shrugged at him, looking extremely pale. Nobody had an answer to Tonk’s viable question. They were all waiting for the onslaught to come, but it was silent. Dark but silent. Harry felt it was strange. Normally when Voldemort was near, his scar would stab and throb painfully, especially when the man used magic. But nothing happened to his head now - all that darkness and nothing. According to Professor Dumbledore, he’d be more protected from Voldemort’s mood swings, since the dark wizard had occluded his mind to him fully after the incident in the ministry; but this magic that kept out the light was most certainly not occluded. He wished Dumbledore was here to explain it. It kind of worried him that his scar didn’t warn him as usually.  
  
Suddenly, he clutched to his forehead in pain. Be careful what you wish for, he thought sardonically as his head pounded more ferociously as before.   
  
‘Harry?’ anxious voices spoke.   
  
‘Is  _He_  here?!’   
  
Then, sunlight blinded their eyes. For a brief moment, Harry saw red eyes flashing merrily in a fogged reflection in a mirror; but his head cleared, the pain subsided, and he stared in Mrs Weasley’s concerned face before he could make more of the blurry visual. ‘Harry, Harry, are you alright?’ asked Mrs Weasley, shaking him by his shoulders.  
  
‘He is pleased,’ Harry said roughly, rubbing his forehead, ‘very, very pleased.’  
  
His statement met with a profound silence.  
  
\---  
  
The tendrils of his magic surrounded hers in the sky. They curled and weaved around it. He flexed his magic again, and Hermione felt how his “snakes” guided her scattered power together, forced it to comply and cooperate; they moved it back, slow at first; but it quickly gained speed as they pressed more and more of her magic together. The acceleration was enormous and the closer it came the less territory his tendrils had to cover, making the speed of the returning magic quite a scary thing.   
  
‘Prepare yourself,’ Voldemort warned. ‘The return will not be a pleasant experience.’  
  
Of course it wasn’t going to be. It was magic. For some insane reason, everything in magic had to be darn uncomfortable. Apparation, Portkey travel, flying on a broom, Blast-Ended Skrewts doing all sorts of things to you, Bouncing Bulb punching you in the face, Bubotuber giving you painful boils, Devil’s Snare trying to strangle you, Whomping Willows, Potions ingredients that try to eat through your skin before you could cut them, books that could not be read, magical artefacts that festered; and did she need to continue? Sometimes she thought the individual who invented magic had to be the worst sadist that ever lived.   
  
‘Almost here,’ Voldemort said, pointing their wands abruptly at her chest, while his other arm tightened around her waist.   
  
She doubled over and gripped his arm panicky when it struck her like another freight train. Only this one was not hitting the brakes at all. The majority of her magic dove back inside – glad to be home again. But some of it had liked being outdoors for the first time and those bits were unwilling to return to her body’s confinement; they bounced off her skin and tried to sneak through Voldemort’s magic. He wasn’t allowing it. Hermione gasped when he flexed once more; his magic now coiled around her, pressed into her skin closer and closer, until she felt like he tried to push her eyeballs out through the back of her skull, crush her bones, and pretty much turn her into a roast with his magic substituting for the roped net.   
  
The pressure dropped suddenly. His magic swirled away from her, reinstating not only his but also the dropped Malfoy wards. Hermione caught a laboured breath, rising up – her hands were still on the arm he held around her. She looked over her shoulder at him and he eyed her with mirth. ‘Quite a bit of darkness you try to suppress, Granger,’ he said gloating. ‘Darkness that powerful and pervasive will not stay confined forever. If you don’t learn to control it, it will eventually gain control of you.’  
  
‘Is that what happened to you?’ she blurted out, making her want to zip and lock her jabbering mouth and throw away the key.   
  
But Lord Voldemort tossed his head back and laughed. He laughed! Stop the presses. Hermione pinched herself. Yep, still awake.   
  
‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’ he said, amused.   
  
Suddenly, his body language changed abruptly; he stiffened. Hermione looked around the room immediately, ready and alert. Something was wrong.  
  
‘Nebi?’ she said, puzzled. Not sure she had the identity right of the red thing hovering in front of them.  
  
‘Yes,’ Voldemort said gravely. His long spidery fingers caressed her neck and the side of her face, as he pulled the necklace over her head. ‘I’ll try not to be too long,’ he said, placing her on her feet.   
  
A robe materialised around her body and he was gone with the next flourish of their wands. Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked around the still fogged mirrored room. Finally, she plummeted in the chair he had conjured, not knowing what else to do in the empty, thoroughly warded space without her wand. A devious voice inside her told her temptingly, it had trashed his wards before. Scared, she ignored it, locked it away more thoroughly behind imaginary walls of stone and steel. Hermione wasn’t too happy with the knowledge she just gained about herself. So she’d sat in that chair for hours, losing track of time and almost falling asleep when…  
  
Crack.  
  
The sound of his Apparation shook her awake, but her jaw dropped when she saw him. His robes were torn and filthy. Several deep gashes were visible on his bare non-dominant arm, the left side of his face bled severely, and he crashed to the floor unable to stay standing. Hermione flew to her feet and made her way to him.   
  
‘What happened?’ she asked, looking down worried.  _Professor Dumbledore? Harry? Harry would be alright, wouldn’t he? If he did something rash and died, because she wasn’t there to stop him, she’d kick his arse._  
  
‘Keeper shit,’ Voldemort said hoarsely.   
  
 _Oh, thank Merlin, not Harry._  
  
Lord Voldemort held out his hand to her. Hermione blinked. Shocked, he’d want assistance from her. But when she saw the necklace dangling on his fingers, she knew she’d misinterpreted the gesture. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it back and putting it on.   
  
‘Help me up,’ he ordered coldly.   
  
Another surprised blink followed, but she complied nevertheless. Hermione wanted to pull him up by his uninjured arm, but he was pretty darn stubbornly refusing it. ‘I need the ability to use my wand,’ he shortly stated when she had placed her hands bossily in her sides, glaring down at him.   
  
‘Fine, be in pain then,’ Hermione muttered uncaring.   
  
And she ignored the hiss he let out when she pulled him up, placed his arm around her neck, and grabbed him around his waist; all the while staggering back and forth, for she could barely stay standing with all the heavy leaning he did on her. Finally, she caught her balance and stood still. Lord Voldemort whipped his wand at the wards around the room and the door opened with a click. Automatically, she wanted to turn in the direction of her bedroom when they stumbled out, but he blocked her by refusing to move, nearly keeling them over.   
  
‘Other way,’ he said through clenched teeth.  
  
‘Whereto?’ Hermione asked, turning them around in the right direction.  
  
‘Last door at the end.’  
  
She had no idea how she made it over there without falling down, but she managed and halted in front of a sealed door. Usually his wards were rather inconspicuous. She’d never been able to spot the ones around her bedroom, except that time when Grindelwald tried to leave with her wand. Hermione was pretty sure the majority of his wards were designed to only make you aware of them, once they came thundering down on top of your head – when it was too late to stop or take precautions. This one, however, she could feel thrumming against her skin; the sheer power of it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.   
  
Lord Voldemort hopped on his feet, almost tossing them both to the floor. She gripped him tighter around his waist and looked up annoyed, but he ignored her glaring. Apparently, he had gained a stance he was satisfied with and flicked his wand at the door. A wind brushed her hair around her face, while he made small intricate gestures with his hand, pulling down the wards one by one. Finally, the door clicked open.   
  
 _Open Sesame._  
  
Curiosity killed the cat; curiosity killed the cat, Hermione kept reminding herself. No, she was not at all curious to what required such heavy warding; she just wanted to kick the door out of the way, because he was too heavy to carry and she needed to sit him down somewhere fast. Yes, that was it.   
  
However, she had no idea how to do said kicking without tumbling over, so she supposed she could wait a second longer and let it swing open on its own. She had to refrain herself from jumping up and down excitedly and dumping him on the floor when she witnessed what could only be described as the most exquisite Potions lab a private person could have. Shelves, full of already made Potions and ingredients for new creations, filled all the walls. The centre of the room was occupied by long tables; some contained active cauldrons, as she heard bubbling, smelt the scent of grass, and saw different colours of steam emanating from them. In front of every cauldron stood a high stool that enabled someone to sit and work actively with ease. Saying Hermione was impressed with his lab was all the more telling if you took under consideration, she had been to France on vacation in the past, where she had visited the famous Flamel Institut, while her parents went for a walk on the Champs-Elysées.   
  
Sure, in size there was no comparison. The Flamel Institut was huge. But the equipment, she saw here, was quite a match for what she’d seen there. Hermione noticed the same self-stirring cauldrons standing on quite similar design tables (which helped protect the brewer as well as improved the quality of potion-making due to the fully neutral nature of the tabletop’s material). He also had the specialised vacuum-pulling glass containers to store his ingredients in and the same brand of knives. She didn’t want to even guess at the price tag of any of it. She was sure he’d made a huge dent in the contents of the Malfoy vault at Gringotts to establish this facility. That appealed very much to the oh so vengeful and vindictive side of her character, and she smirked gleefully, while they staggered inside.  
  
‘You’ll need Re’em blood, second shelf from the top on your right,’ Voldemort said, conjuring a more comfortable chair for himself to sit on, next to the corner of one of the tables. ‘Runespoor eggs, right beside it.’   
  
She lowered him into it, while he jabbed his wand at the empty cauldron. Flames erupted underneath the cauldron. Hermione turned; her eyes searched for the items on the second shelf amongst a wall filled with nothing but those expensive aforementioned glass jars. ‘And of course the rest,’ he added, while casting a Summoning Charm on divers items at once, which were not quite so delicate as the previous two he already mentioned.   
  
Hermione carefully picked up one container at the time and placed them on the table. By the time she was done, several silver knives and one gold one were already making mincemeat of the things he had summoned. Puzzled, she glanced at it, but she really had no idea what the hell this was supposed to become. It irked her terribly. ‘What are you making?’   
  
‘You,’ Voldemort corrected, ‘you are making something that will help restore me fully within the next hour.’  
  
Confused, Hermione looked at all the ingredients. How could she possibly create a potion without knowing the first thing about it?  
  
‘I will be monitoring and assisting your progress. Do. Not. Attempt. To. Screw. With. This. Potion,’ he said quietly, flicking his wand. A parchment appeared on the desk. ‘I will be most displeased if you mess this up. You do not want Lord Voldemort to be displeased with you, Hermione, it’s not good for your –’  
  
‘There is no need for threats when people are already helping you,’ Hermione interrupted, gritting her teeth together, as she picked up the parchment to read it.   
  
For a second, he considered countering that argument, but then he just closed his eyes and lay back in the chair, waiting for her to finish reading.  
  
\---  
  
Shocked, Draco let out a high shriek when he woke rather abruptly from his nice slumber by being tossed to the ground harshly.   
  
‘Do you still have some around?’ Gellert asked concerned, as he dragged Albus into his chair.  
  
‘Cupboard,’ Albus spoke, coughing. ‘Purple flask.’  
  
‘Boy,’ Gellert said, gesturing irritated to the furious Draco Malfoy on the floor who had just been violently removed from said chair by Grindelwald. ‘Do something useful for a change.’  
  
Draco just wanted to say he could stuff his orders in a very dark place when Gellert Grindelwald turned to him and gave him a murderous stare, which made him swallow all his unspoken words, and he scrambled to his feet instantaneously. Gellert picked a lemon drop from the bowl on the desk and handed it to Albus to help stop his coughing fit. It seemed to do the trick. He glanced sideways briefly to see Draco going through the cupboard hurriedly, so he turned his attention back to Albus.   
  
‘You had to do it, didn’t you?’ Gellert snarled. ‘Couldn’t you just let everyone pitch in for Olsen’s vacant spot, instead of trying to be in two places at once?’   
  
Albus just looked at him.  
  
‘Well?’ Gellert snapped.   
  
Gesturing at his mouth, Albus swallowed the little bit that remained. ‘You know what Olsen’s capabilities were like, Gellert. Not even Mei could have held that place,’ he answered, letting out a single cough.  
  
‘You realise that if we lose you now-’  
  
Albus’s eyes widened and he nodded his head warningly to the side. Gellert shut his mouth immediately as Draco came back into view, holding a purple flask in his outstretched hand. Gellert took it from him and shook it a couple of times before opening it and sniffing at the odour.  
  
‘Well, you’re being irresponsible, just so you know,’ Gellert said, while he handed the opened flask to Albus.   
  
‘I wasn’t the only one injured,’ Albus said softly before downing the potion with a shiver and a wrinkled nose.  
  
‘Not my fault,’ Gellert replied shortly. ‘If you lot would just hand me a wand, I’d have dealt with it myself. My spot doesn’t need to be an opening in our defences, you know.’  
  
‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I meant you need to go check if he still has the potion.’  
  
Gellert snorted. ‘He’ll manage. He made a nice nosedive though,’ he sniggered, ‘well, nose…’  
  
‘Gellert,’ Albus said warningly.   
  
‘He won’t want the help,’ Gellert retorted lightly.   
  
‘Gellert,’ Albus repeated more forcefully.  
  
‘Fine, fine, I’ll check if he’s still breathing,’ Gellert said grudgingly; and he added sarcastically, ‘let’s all keep our fingers crossed we are that lucky.’   
  
Albus shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face when Gellert apparated out.   
  
‘What happened to you, Professor?’ Draco asked, curiously eyeing the worn-out, blood-soaked wizard in his torn robes.   
  
Dumbledore suppressed a sigh and smiled, looking at the blond. ‘Just your average day Keeper business, nothing to be upset about,’ he said calmly.  
  
Draco Malfoy practically choked. He’d thought being a Keeper was somewhat of an honorary position - a place of standing worthy of the Malfoy family name; not a place, where he could be torn into shreds. Everyday Keeper business really involved getting butchered like this? If someone as powerful as Professor Dumbledore got injured this badly, he suddenly wasn’t so sure it was a position to want to strive at obtaining. Perhaps, he should let Granger-   
  
Ugh. The thought was too appalling. He had to beat that blasted Gryffindor at least once. He had to. Just imaging the look on her face when she lost was almost satisfying enough to him, but he had to see it for real. He had to beat that insipid Mudblo-  
  
‘Draco,’ Dumbledore warned shortly.   
  
 _Sweet Salazar, he forgot aunt Bella’s teaching again._  
  
Quickly, Draco looked away and let go of all thoughts, feelings and emotions. It wasn’t easy this time around; because even though Dumbledore’s physical wounds healed quickly after he’d taken the potion, those robes were a constant reminder to how he had entered the Head’s Office. Draco Malfoy had some real considering to do with regards to his future.   
  
‘Erm, can I go home now, Sir?’ Draco asked.  _He’d been stuck here for hours after all!_  
  
‘You know you don’t need to ask, Draco,’ Dumbledore said kindly. He pointed to raggedy hat, lying on the side-table. ‘Your Portkey is always available to you whenever you need it.’  
  
‘But the wards you raised-?’ Draco said, confused.   
  
‘-are non-existent for your personal Portkey. I’ve explained before, Draco, you can come and go whenever you need my assistance as your guide. No ward will change that.’  
  
Draco wanted to hit his head on the desk again, but he was starving, so he settled for grabbing the hat. The moment he felt the familiar tug at his navel was the exact same moment Grindelwald apparated back in. Seeing the man reappear made Draco very, very happy he had left on time. Really, like one of them wasn’t enough. He had to get two for the price of one.  
  
Grindelwald sat down dramatically in the chair at the other side of the desk. ‘Granger is brewing his potion. I suppose he’s lucky she’s still there. Judging from the colour and odour I witnessed, it will be just perfect when it’s done,’ he snarled.   
  
Albus chuckled. ‘This is really upsetting to you, isn’t it? Having to acknowledge she is good at that, too. I say it’s a very healthy dose of reality to stick into that male chauvinistic pig attitude you tend to exhibit normally. Perhaps seeing her succeed will slap you out of that ridiculous notion women can’t accomplish anything of worth.’  
  
‘Oh shut up.’  
  
The chuckle turned into full-blown laughter. ‘But of course, you will find some lame excuse as why she is the exception to the rule, as were Ljudmila, Mei, Sharasvati, Maria,-’   
  
Albus laughed even harder when Gellert apparated away before he could continue to recite the endless list of names.   
  
After his amusement had died out, his mind went over the Hermione Granger situation. He’d brought Harry to the Weasleys, got Horace Slughorn to return, and accomplished a million other things to go according to plan except for her case. He tapped on the desk with his fingers. She needed to be away from Tom soon or he was positive there would be no viable method at his disposal to diminish the man’s influence on her at all. That demonstration of darkness earlier on was proof enough.  
  
Frustrated, his fist rammed the desk. He’d calculated in Tom’s refusal to let her leave his side, but he’d thought the others would take more proactive measures than merely sending a bunch of stupid Howlers. Clearly, he had overestimated their commitment. However, he was absolutely positive the girl was in dire need of break about now; she would need to spend some time with her friends to recall who she was. No, Hermione Jean Granger wasn’t staying there any longer. Not as long as Albus Dumbledore still had an ace or two up his sleeve. He rose from his chair and called out, ‘Nebi.’   
  
It was time for more drastic measures to be taken.  
  
-


	20. Chapter 20

**  
  
Chapter Twenty**  
  
Dumbledore crumpled the replies in his hand, waving the Keepers’ owl away. ‘Fine, fine,’ he muttered, annoyed. ‘There is always plan B.’  
  
\---  
  
‘Erm…’   
  
Doubtful, Hermione looked from the parchment to her cauldron. She’d added the last ingredient and it seemed to be the colour it was supposed to have, but she’d never brewed it before.   
  
‘Is this-?’ she halted and looked shocked at his flaccid figure. His head lay to the side; his eyes were closed, and he basically hung in the chair, unmoving. She couldn’t even see his chest rise and fall. Worried, she grabbed a hold of him and shook him. ‘My Lo-’   
  
The words died in her mouth when his hand lashed out and grabbed a hold of her throat so fast she didn’t see it coming. The tip of his wand pressed into her stomach almost simultaneously. Such fury danced in his red eyes when he glared at her unseeing. She froze and watched him wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights – certain she was done for. His whole demeanour predicted death. Yet no magic swirled around her; no power made it to his wand. His current physical condition saved her life.   
  
He shook his wandhand, confused nothing had happened. Breathing heavily, Lord Voldemort pressed his eyelids together, blinking a couple of times before comprehension visibly filled his features and he dropped both his hands immediately, pocketing his wand. He took another laboured breath and glared at her hands, which were still on his body, warningly.   
  
Abruptly, she let go and stepped back, looking anywhere but at him; her feelings were hurt. She’d meant no harm. She was just worried. What the hell just happened? Come to think of it, she had noticed before he acted strangely whenever she took the initiative to touch him. There always had been a certain amount of tension in his muscles, like he despised it to have contact with her. Hermione bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry – no, she wasn’t. She tried her hardest to hold in those tears that threatened to leave her eye-sockets by stretching her eyelids further apart.   
  
‘What do you want, Granger?’ Tiredness and hoarseness filled his voice.   
  
Her chin trembled, and she dipped a ladle into the cauldron silently, worried those tears would break free completely if she spoke out loud. Avoiding eye-contact, she ladled the potion into a glass vial and held it out to him. If it wasn’t done to his satisfaction, he would surely say so. But he simply took the vial from her and drank it without another word. Hugging her arms around herself, she turned further away from him. She felt so cold and alone. She inhaled, trying to calm herself through her breathing; but it was no use. She needed her friends; she wanted to go home. She couldn’t do this anymore. Her nerves couldn’t take those sudden changes in his mood anymore. To her utter disgust, she felt her cheeks turning wet. Darn, she didn’t want him to see her cry; he didn’t need to know how much effect he had on her. Desperately, she tried to stop.   
  
Suddenly, the lab turned hot with magic –  _his magic._  It flooded her senses, overruled her emotions, and warmed her body, making her calm down. His hands came to rest gently on her shoulders. ‘Just,’ he paused, turning her around. Cupping her face with both hands, he scrutinised her before he wiped her tears away with his thumbs. ‘Don’t tou-’ he didn’t finish but took a deep breath. ‘Make sure to have my permission before you touch me in the future,’ he said softly.   
  
Hermione looked at him questioningly.   
  
‘You did well on the potion,’ he complimented, ignoring the question etched on her face. ‘When did Gellert leave?’  
  
‘A while back,’ Hermione replied barely audible. ‘Why do you react like-?’  
  
He placed his fingers on her mouth, silencing her. They stared at each other quietly; Hermione with an inquiring interested mind, while Lord Voldemort tried to warn her off with his eyes. When that obviously failed, because she kept waiting for his explanation, he sighed and shook his head. ‘I almost killed you by mistake, but you continue to defy me,’ he said with amused amazement.  
  
‘It wasn’t me you were looking at,’ Hermione replied knowingly, remembering the look in his eyes.   
  
He stared at her; his blank mask firmly in place. ‘It’s late. We both need to rest,’ he said evenly.   
  
With a flick of his wand, the door opened. He moved to the side and ushered her out. Hermione stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm; he stiffened. ‘We had sex, yet this bothers you; I don’t understand.’  
  
‘There is nothing to understand,’ he replied inaccessibly, taking back control by sliding his hand behind her back to guide her to her bedroom.   
  
Hermione sighed and dropped her hand. She let him lead her there; but when they arrived, she turned and folded her arms over each other bossily. She really wanted an answer. Surely, she deserved one?   
  
Impassive, he watched her, until the corner of his mouth curled up and an evil twinkle darted through his red eyes.   
  
Uncertain about where this was heading, Hermione took a step back.   
  
He smirked, and slowly, drew his wand, caressing it meaningfully.  
  
Hermione gulped and took a couple of more steps back. A girly yelp left her lips when her body was airborne the next second and he basically caught her into his arms triumphantly, wrapping her arms and legs around him.   
  
‘Summoning Charms aren’t supposed to work on people,’ she objected feebly.  
  
‘They aren’t?’ he teased.  
  
Hermione scowled resentfully.   
  
‘I just thought if you are that adamant on touching me, Hermione,’ he whispered into her ear, sneaking his hands underneath her robe, ‘I have some splendid suggestions as to where and how.’  
  
‘You are such a barrel of contradictions,’ she growled, frustrated.  
  
‘Good,’ he purred and licked the skin of her neck in one long languorous movement, causing her to shudder in his arms. ‘I wouldn’t want to be boring you,’ he sniggered.   
  
‘Fat chance of that,’ Hermione muttered.  _‘Ooooh.’_  
  
Boring wasn’t a word that entered her mind when he kept her entertained for the rest of the evening.  
  
\---  
  
‘One-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixteen, one-thousand-four-hundred-aAAAH!’ Gellert squealed loudly and flew to his feet, his hands grabbing his chest. ‘Do you have to barge in like that!?’ he asked dramatically.  
  
‘I need a lift,’ Albus said, amused about the way Mr. Hop-In-On-Everyone-Without-Warning was acting.   
  
‘A what?’ Gellert said, puzzled, trying to get his breathing back under control. ‘To where?’  
  
Albus glanced over his half-moon glasses mischievously and waited. Gellert looked at him questioningly. Then, he frowned; his eyes widened; he shook his head as clear horror became the dominant facial expression when he realised where Albus wanted to be taken. ‘Oh no,’ Gellert said quickly. ‘Hell no,’ he said more forcefully, turning away from his old friend and straightening the sheets on his bed. ‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he repeated fast, while lying back down on his bed demonstratively.   
  
‘So, I take it that’s an affirmative?’ Albus deduced, smiling.   
  
Gellert looked sideways, annoyed. ‘Absolutely not.’  
  
It was decided upon.  
  
\---  
  
Hermione furrowed her brow, as she concentrated hard on her essay. She lost count on the number of drafts she had written already, but this one returned even more noticeably less red. She’d completed her theory on how to undo an already cast spell when she solved all her problems with mass, acceleration, and force of spells to her satisfaction. Hermione wanted to do a little happy dance when she noticed there were no more critical comments made on that piece of her essay - apart from one little, almost exasperated, word; _“Finally.”_  
  
But that only made her grin and do a little eye-roll. He surely knew how to overly dramatise his end of things. There were a few tiny remarks here and there on little things she needed to improve or clarify, but the most important part of her essay was done. The only large pieces remaining, Lord Voldemort deemed insufficient, were her explanations on why the Basic Laws of Magic were not the Basic Laws on Magic. He was not satisfied with all her arguments against Law Two till Four. He kept nagging to her about her refusal to discount Laws One and Five when she so blatantly trashed Two, Three and Four. Hermione was positive those two were correct, and she got a bit sick of seeing the taunting red “Why?” in the margins. Really, they weren’t even related to the issue of Controlled Casting, so  _why_ , indeed, did he have to keep drilling her about those two?   
  
Annoyed, she wrote down “BECAUSE!” in gigantic capitals after his “Why?” – There, he had an answer.   
  
She grinned, considering the look on his face if she handed it back like this, but he was a bit too skilled at the Cruciatus Curse to really regard that as a sane option. Apparently, Mister Anal Retentive needed a concrete reason for everything she wrote down, so she looked at her white, empty piece of parchment and started rewriting just the bit on the Laws. The first bits were easy to fix. But Lord Voldemort’s comments made her want to hit her head on the desk when she couldn’t just hypothesise her way to a solution.   
  
So, pretty soon her desk was covered in textbooks again, and she flipped through them, quoting bits and pieces of renowned Spell Theorists that supported her statements. Hermione hoped that, if she added their words, he’d finally stop nagging. Yeah, she knew it was a long shot. She could just hear the comments.  _Adding an adverb won’t make this sentence true, Granger. This part is a complete waste of my time, AGAIN. Well, if Isis said so… it must be true._  
  
Hermione stared into space, her quill inches away from her parchment. She was getting nowhere.  
  
‘Because,’ his soft voice sounded contemplatively behind her.   
  
Hermione yelped, but was able to not knock over anything this time around. She really hoped that some day soon, preferably before she lay six feet under, she’d be able to spot him entering.  
  
‘Such an intelligent rebuttal, I stand corrected,’ said Voldemort.   
  
Hermione glanced sideways and noted he held the draft, he had corrected, in his hand. Crap. He turned around and leaned his butt against her desk, placing the scroll with her capital “BECAUSE!” remark in front of her nose. Silently, Hermione looked at it, not sure what to say. Quietly, she laid it to the side and continued writing. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her head, but he said nothing. Suddenly, he picked up the books on her desk one by one, checking the titles. Involuntarily, her eyes followed his movements swiftly; she had had a hard time focussing on her writings without all the distractions, let alone now.   
  
‘What are you doing?’ she asked after a while, irked.  
  
‘Looking for your thesaurus,’ came back casually.  
  
‘My what?’ Hermione said, stunned.  
  
‘Oh yessss,’ he hissed. ‘You obviously have one around here somewhere, posing as a real book. When I find it, it will suffer – greatly. And then, I will have no choice but to locate and have my revenge on all those who wrote, assembled, printed, distributed, sold, bought, and…’ he placed his hand on the back of her neck, ‘USED it,’ he added with great emphasis, leaning into her ear threateningly.  
  
‘I am not writing the same things as before in different wording.’  
  
‘Is that so?’ he whispered softly, rubbing her neck. ‘Then,’ he placed his finger on her parchment, ‘explain this sentence you just wrote down.’  
  
Hermione read, “The merits of the foundations the Basic Laws are drawn upon are open to debate.” ‘So?’ she questioned, glaring at him. ‘They are.’   
  
‘Ah, yes, but I recall you already said,’ Voldemort said, tilting his head while quoting, ‘“What lies at the origin of the Basic Laws is in need of thorough research to further advance our knowledge of its validity or lack thereof.”’  
  
‘Perhaps I let that sentence out in this draft.’  
  
‘Perhaps,’ he said smirking; his voice dripped with irony.   
  
‘Fine,’ Hermione grunted, scratching out the sentence. ‘Happy now?’   
  
‘The thesaurus’ people are most grateful to you.’  
  
Hermione wasn’t granting that remark worthy of a response. He smirked, while whipping his wand around. A pile of books clattered on her desk. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the titles. “Ancient Curses, A Comprehensive Study”, “Stretching Magical Boundaries, The Dark Arts”, “Exceptions to Transfiguration”, “Compendium to Medieval Sorcery”, “Isis, Her Life and Knowledge”, “The Unthinkable, Taboos and Prohibitions in Magic”, “The Dark Magic of Potions”, “Controlled Casting, Illusion or Reality?”, “Mind the Laws,  _or not!_ ”, and last but not least, “Magick Moste Evile”.   
  
‘Charming,’ Hermione commented dryly.  
  
‘You’ll need the information in every single one of these volumes to get a thorough analysis completed on the Basic Laws of Magic, but watch out for the rubbish and clutter filler as well as for some of the more overly enthusiastic conclusions they make. However, Hermione, I am sure you can distinguish between what is factual and what is wishful thinking. You can keep them, but beware, the Ministry tends to … frown upon some of the titles,’ he sniggered.   
  
‘Frown upon, well, that’s one way of putting it,’ Hermione replied, glancing at several of the “Go straight to Azkaban, do no pass Go, you will not receive two-hundred Galleons” books.  
  
She scribbled down a few words with her quill again; but he’d moved behind her, placed his hands on either side of her on the desk, and leaned over her seated form to check what she was doing more thoroughly. Hermione felt incredibly uncomfortable. Not from the close proximity or that he basically had her boxed in against her desk, but she hadn’t finished yet and she really hated it when people read her unfinished, incomplete stuff. He rolled the scroll at the top open to scan the beginning of her writings.   
  
 _Oh for crying out loud, it wasn’t ready yet. And he knew it; didn’t he just bring her a ton of books she needed to complete her analysis?_  
  
Her shoulders tensed and a drop of ink leaked from her quill onto her parchment. He had to lift the scroll a bit to reveal the rest of her writings, due to the quite considerable length it had already.   
  
 _Really, did he have to do that now? She was still working on it._  
  
Hermione bit her tongue, hard. But there was this fine tremble travelling through her body that wanted to shout out in frustration and snatch it from his bleeding hands right now. She was so busy trying to control herself that she didn’t notice the wicked glint that travelled through his eyes and the amused smirk his mouth was curled into, as he placed her parchment back and, demonstratively, grabbed a quill of his own.   
  
‘I believe this is…,’ Voldemort started teasingly.   
  
‘I’m not done yet,’ she snapped, finally reaching her breaking point when he tried to correct something himself, which she hadn’t even been able to check out again.   
  
 _Man, did he not know how annoying it was when people read over your shoulder, while you were writing?_  
  
But she tensed for real when he put the quill down and leaned into her ear; his hands came to rest on her upper-arms. ‘Has my methods of punishment become of such insignificant quality to make you forget your manners this fast, Hermione?’   
  
She closed her eyes and held her breath.   
  
‘Perhaps I shall require some …  _practise_?’   
  
She swallowed visibly.   
  
‘Answer me,’ he said quietly, trailing his hands up and down her arms.   
  
‘N-no, my Lord,’ she whispered, shaking her head slightly.   
  
Lord Voldemort leaned his head back and took in a deep breath of air. She felt his body stilling against hers. Seemingly calming down, he righted his spine and looked down at her. His left hand stroked through her hair, before grabbing onto a huge chunk of it. Violently, he yanked her head back and forced her to meet his swimming gaze. ‘You’re fortunate I don’t have time at the moment, Hermione Granger,’ he whispered threateningly. ‘I am only here right now to bring you those textbooks and inform you that I’ll be going away for awhile and – and,’ he repeated with emphasis to keep her silent when he saw her mouth opening to interrupt him, ‘if you pass the Occlumency test I’ve scheduled for tomorrow, you will be allowed one week at the Weasleys.’   
  
‘Three,’ Hermione blurted out.  
  
‘Pardon?’  
  
‘Three weeks,’ Hermione daringly negotiated. ‘I can’t sell only being there one. Ron and Mrs Weasley will never accept it.’  
  
‘Two,’ Voldemort replied after a long silence.   
  
Hermione opened her mouth.   
  
‘Two or none at all, take your pick,’ Voldemort said before she could speak. ‘And make sure the old coot understands I’ll be expecting you back though.’ Abruptly, he let go of her and apparated away.   
  
Hermione sat there with her mouth open, flabbergasted. She hadn’t expected him to let her leave at all. But what if she failed his test? And he wasn’t coming back today, so she didn’t have the chance to practise for said test. And he hadn’t even said what kind of test and what precisely would be in there? How can you learn for a test if you don’t know what’s in there? She needed to study everything all over again. Oh, what if she didn’t know the answers or what if it was a practical? She never did well on practical examinations. She hated practical examinations. She was so going to screw this up. She wasn’t ready.   
  
 _Legilimency is the art of translating, no interpreting, no…_  
  
See, now she couldn’t remember Le Fay’s exact writings anymore! Why hadn’t he said this to her sooner? She would have reread everything by now if only she had known. She really needed to study. But she’d never be able to reread everything before tomorrow, unless she made it an all-nighter. Abruptly, she tossed away her parchment, dumped every book on Legilimency and Occlumency she had at her disposal on her bed, and began reading fast.   
  
\---  
  
Shangri-La was a cute little legendary wizarding town in the middle of the British countryside. A medieval church with a still intact original bell tower stood at prime location in the centre. A large cobblestone square connected it to the community’s proud city hall, which was also on the lists of ancient wizarding monuments and functioned mainly as a store for the tourists. The locals didn’t use money to sustain in their needs, but they had plenty of it to deal with the outside world when necessary.   
  
When you looked around, you saw small houses build in two circles around the square, making the community consisted of less than eighty wizards and witches a very tight and closed one. The inner circle of houses was for the local population; the outer circle contained the guest houses. But all of their gardens were a prime jewel of colours and scents; the flowers had their heads raised cheerful and happy to the burning midsummer sun. It was an otherwise beautiful day.  
  
This town was above all things a peaceful place; a place of tranquillity, where one went to rest, to think, and to meditate. Upholding their status as a neutral place, this tiny wizarding cult had survived centuries of warfare by supplying all parties with a safe harbour, a place to retire from the destruction eminently caused by battles. This town was a safe haven, a place of hope and dreams of better days to come – a useless place to Lord Voldemort.  
  
Terror had come to Shangri-La.  
  
Flames erupted higher and higher, dancing around the rooftops; windows broke with sharp pangs from the unimaginable heat. Flowers welted in the gardens. Trees fell or rotted. With the distinct crackling noise of combined dark arts curses, the city hall building came down. The stench of disembowelled bodies filled the nostrils of those still breathing. Screams, screams everywhere, people ran, looking for safety that was not to be found anywhere nearby. Blood flew from a body as it bent backward in an impossible arc. Another thrashed and writhed on the floor while a masked, black-cloaked figure kept his wand pointed in utter delight. Jets of light flew back and forth as some tried to fight the large horde of Death Eaters invading their privacy, but this peaceful community had no practice in the art of combat and were just fruits ready to be picked one by one. Some died screaming in agony as they foolishly made a disapparition attempt through the ward the Dark Lord himself had erected around the town. Strangely, no one fled to the safety of the church. The church, history deemed impossible to enter for evil forces, the church that had saved many lives over the centuries by harbouring all those who were prosecuted and oppressed.  
  
Why did nobody run to this logical magical protected site of refuge?   
  
The answer was as simple as it was terrifying. The church glowed with a pulsing green light today. A skull hovered above it, while the snake that left its mouth travelled around the bell tower in a mocking gesture of all that was holy. But the most frightening thing of all was the man standing in the doorway of the church; his red eyes took in the destruction of the town with a detached, unemotional, sharp observatory mind. His black-robed shoulder leaned against the wood beam, while he held his wand between his fingers in considerable boredom as he witnessed all; Bellatrix’s joy, the Carrows’ skill with the Unforgivables, Rowle’s immense capability of causing destruction and mayhem, Yaxley’s fast body repositioning to deliver the next curse not dropping his guard for a second despite the lack of opposition, both Malfoys conspicuous absence from his line of sight, Gibbon’s foolish wand-waving, Greyback preferring his teeth above his wand to do the damage, Travers taking a blow when his spell-casting became overindulgent, and the seemingly endless stream of victims falling one after another.   
  
Unlike his followers, it gave him no pleasure to destroy this despicable place. There was no challenge, no fight, no skill needed to complete this task after he had taken care of the safeguards of this town. The High Priestess lay dead behind him in a pool of blood, inches away from her sacred altar that would have protected everyone in the vicinity against him and his followers. But she no longer was a threat now, and the Dark Lord was bored. He had given his Death Eaters enough time to indulge themselves in their hobbies. Time to finish off this place, so the whole of the United Kingdom would come to realise Lord Voldemort left no hideouts, no stones unturned, and no harbours to flee to, should they even consider opposing his agenda for a second. He pushed away from the beam, gave a casual flick with his wand over his shoulder, and strode into the square.   
  
Behind his black clad body, the green clouded snake seemingly swallowed the bell tower and the rest of the church. A dark flash occurred, blocking out the very midsummer sun from illuminating the area. All one could see was a dark fire raining down on the once holy building. When the church and all its white magic finally collapsed, the force of it thundered across the hills and valleys for miles and miles to come. It was the signal to all the raid was over. Aurors would be arriving soon. With a crack, Lord Voldemort apparated back to Malfoy Manor.   
  
‘My Lord,’ Severus Snape said, greeting him appropriately in the hallway.   
  
Voldemort hadn’t informed the Potions Master of the raid, instead he had summoned to man to meet him here to make sure it would be completed, undisturbed. One Department of Mysteries’ fiasco was enough. Even if he wasn’t certain it was Snape’s fault the Order arrived so soon, he sure wasn’t risking it.  
  
‘Follow me,’ Voldemort ordered, turning away from the man and pacing up the staircase immediately.  
  
Severus Snape had to do a few running steps to catch up, but after that he had no problem matching the Dark Lord’s long stride through Malfoy Manor.   
  
‘I have a few things I need to take care of, which leaves me with a bit of a predicament, Severus,’ Voldemort said softly, walking around the corner.  
  
‘A predicament, Master?’ Snape inquired with precisely the right amount of interest, blinking at the man’s back when Lord Voldemort flicked his wand, making the dark cloud dissipate.  _The Dark Lord was letting him enter his personal wing, while he still didn’t trust him fully?_  Snape had the sudden desire to clutch to his wand, but refrained from the too telling urge.   
  
‘Yes, a predicament, Severus,’ Voldemort repeated, swirling around with his wand still in his hand. He gestured with his free hand to Snape to move along.  
  
Blankly, Severus Snape ignored the piece of yew wood practically aimed at his chest and continued walking as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. Yes, he felt perfectly at ease with the current situation. Merlin, next time he saw Albus Dumbledore, if there was to be a next time, they were going to have to have a real talk, because he was beginning to get a nagging and uncomfortable feeling as to where this whole show was leading, and the girl’s name happened to be Hermione Jean Granger. As if having to deal with that little shite in class wasn’t bad enough, now she had to bother him during his well-earned holidays, too.   
  
Lord Voldemort whipped his wand, abruptly, in the direction right behind Severus. The Potions Master turned his head to see the ward rising and the bellowing black cloud settling back in place.  _Wonderful, so much for making an emergency disapparation._  
  
‘I am aware you recognised her, Severus,’ Lord Voldemort said quietly, looking directly at him. ‘I have to commend your … discretion not to announce her identity to the world.’  
  
Severus gave a slight nod. ‘Thank you, Master. But I serve at your pleasure, not my own,’ Snape said silkily. ‘It was obvious you wanted her presence here to remain a secret, otherwise you would not have disillusioned her.’  
  
‘Yesss,’ Voldemort said with a slight hiss. ‘Your discretion, however, is why I am granting you this task. Miss Granger needs to learn Occlumency quickly. I believe you have some experience teaching these things to Gryffindors?’ he asked with a slight twinge of amusement upon seeing the normal blank façade crack and show a brief moment of disgust before the emotion was squashed again.  
  
‘My Lord?’ Snape said doubtfully. ‘As were your orders, I did my very best to make sure Potter-’  
  
Lord Voldemort held up his hand. ‘I don’t have time to hear another viable explanation for your actions, Severus, I am well aware of what my orders were. Right now, I need you to focus on Miss Granger. Unlike Potter, she needs to be taught Occlumency for real and fast. I can’t have Albus Dumbledore tapping into her mind when she goes back to Hogwarts. As you are her teacher and know her best, I think you are the logical choice for this job.’  
  
‘My Lord, may I enquire as to why the Mudblood is here?’  
  
‘No, you may not. You will teach her Occlumency and that is all.’  
  
‘Gryffindors are horrific in-’  
  
‘Nonsense,’ Voldemort interrupted shortly, ‘she is bright enough.’  
  
‘She is excellent at reciting texts. In other matters her intelligence,’ Snape snarled, ‘is sincerely lacking.’  
  
‘I see,’ Voldemort said softly. ‘Well, then you’ll just have to manage as always, won’t you?’   
  
Snape tried desperately to keep his composure, but the thought of having to teach another lion, especially that know-it-all brat, the impossible art of Occlumency was too much even with his skills. His jaw dropped and he gasped for air like a fish on land. ‘My-my Lord,’ he stammered, trying to think of a way to get out from underneath this task, knowing full well that telling Albus Dumbledore his teachings were not having the desired outcome was one thing, telling the Dark Lord Granger was unsuccessful in acquiring the skill would be detrimental to his health for sure.  
  
‘She is in that room.’ Voldemort pointed to the right door. ‘You and only you can leave and enter this place every full hour on the dot. I’ve set the wards to make this possible. I’ll be returning tomorrow afternoon and I’ll better see some form of Occlumency from Miss Granger then.’   
  
Lord Voldemort disapparated without another word, leaving Severus Snape standing in the corridor alone and flabbergasted. However, by the time he regained his composure, swung open the door to Hermione’s room, and stalked in, his mood had altered to being severely pissed of.   
  
\---  
  
Lying on her belly on the bed, Hermione flipped the page of the Legilimency book when the door flew open. Surprised, she looked up, not used to noticing the Dark Lord entering. However, to her utter shock, it was not him. Her Potions Professor stood there; a towering mass of black glowered down at her with furious eyes. Crap. She wasn’t disillusioned. What was he doing here?  
  
“Pro-professor?’ Hermione stuttered, confused.  
  
‘Miss Granger,’ Snape said quietly, taking in the fully at ease witch on the bed.  
  
Cautiously, Hermione rose and backed of the bed. Snape’s glare made her feel like drawing her wand in defence immediately. She settled for putting her hand in her pocket. What on earth was going on? Her eyes glanced past Severus Snape as she moved around the bedpost to the centre of the room, but nobody else was visible.  
  
‘It seems…,’ Snape halted, slamming the door to with a flick of his wand, ‘the Dark Lord wishes you to study Occlumency.’  
  
Hermione frowned.  _Wishes her to study Occlumency?_  
  
‘Apparently,’ Snape’s eyes darted mockingly to the books on her bed, ‘he is under the mistaken impression your meaningless quoting of texts can be turned to actual hands on reality.’  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to inform her professor she had been practising for quite some time now.  
  
‘Do not interrupt me, Granger,’ Snape said, his voice low and controlled. ‘As you may have noticed, this is not Hogwarts,’ he added almost happily, before moving to her threateningly. ‘Failure to listen to my directives here will have much dire consequences than a mere drop in Gryffindor House points. Do I make myself clear?’  
  
 _Gee, relax, take a happy pill, and pull that gigantic plug from your arse._  
  
She nodded quietly, having a huge problem keeping from giggling loudly, because really, did he think she was scared of him - after having spent weeks with his master?  
  
‘Now I am sure Potter,’ he spat, ‘has informed you all about his private little lessons with me.’   
  
Hermione nodded; her eyes darted around the room again, not sure this was a good subject of conversation to get into.   
  
Snape snorted condescendingly. ‘Rest assure, though I am aware your practical skills are even more deplorable than your alleged friend’s and this is most likely an impossible endeavour for me to undertake, I will expect you not only to pay full attention to these lessons, but you will also practise that which I tell you to practise. If I find out you – like Potter – do not practise, you will be in the unhappy situation of not having the protection of Albus Dumbledore around when you face me again.’ His lip curled in anticipation and he continued in the same soft tone of voice, ‘Occlumency is a branch of magic that seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence, as I am sure you are able to quote word for word from those books you’ve read. Did your friend,’ he sneered as he spoke that last word, ‘tell you how he was supposed to practise closing his mind?’  
  
‘You told Harry,’ Hermione replied with clear emphasis on the name, ‘that he needed to clear his mind of all feelings, thoughts and emotions.’  _Otherwise known as the insane defence, she added in her mind mockingly._  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes at her. ‘When you address me, it will be with the proper respect, Granger. You will either call me “sir” or “Professor” at all times.’  
  
‘Yes, Professor,’ Hermione replied somewhat through clenched teeth.   
  
‘Well, well, well, it seems Potter’s lack of self-control is contagious,’ he snarled, while stalking around her. ‘But it is surprising to hear the Chosen One could even be bothered to hear my valuable words on how it was to be done; it makes his failure at occluding his mind even more grotesque. Of course, his arrogance led to Black’s fortunate early demise, so I suppose there always is a silver lining to be found in every cloud.’  
  
‘That was not Harry’s fault,’ Hermione spat angrily. ‘Sir.’  
  
‘Really? Are you telling me you didn’t do everything in your power to talk him out of going to the ministry and play the hero over and over again? But Potter wouldn’t listen, would he? He couldn’t leave it up to others to find out what was happening. No, he believes his all-mighty presence is required to save the day everywhere,’ Snape snarled viciously. ‘Though, I suppose Black can take some of the blame, too. I heard he just stood there laughing when Bellatrix killed him – didn’t even have his defence up. Potter and Black,’ he sniffed haughtily, ‘they never knew when to quit even-’  
  
‘Don’t talk about them like this!’ Hermione yelled furiously, clutching to the wand in her pocket. ‘They didn’t choose to be in this mess. Don’t you think Harry wouldn’t prefer to still have his parents around? And Sirius died to protect others. I never see you do anything to help another human being, so stop making degrading comments about those who try. Where the hell were you anyway when everyone fought for their lives?’  
  
Snape bowed down; his greasy nose inches away from hers. ‘Exactly where you are right now, Granger,’ he hissed triumphantly.   
  
Hermione paled.  
  
‘So, don’t you dare lecture me, Mudblood,’ he spat the insult right in her face. ‘I may never have assisted Potter or Black, but no one can say I pretended to be their friend, ever.’   
  
He swirled away, drawing his wand.   
  
‘I am not betraying Harry!’ Hermione said, clenching her fists. Sparks erupted from the tip of her wand, making her flinch when they pricked into her thigh.  
  
Snape’s lip curled. ‘Of course not,’ he mocked. ‘The Dark Lord is always this…,’ he waved his hand around as if to show off the comfortable bedroom to an audience, ‘accommodating to his enemies.’  
  
‘Well, I am. You wouldn’t know. I didn’t choose this stupid arrange…’   
  
Hermione slammed her mouth shut when she saw the narrowing of eyes and the sudden slight posture change in Snape that indicated he now took a very keen interest in what she was saying. He was baiting her. Shit, shit, shit. She’d almost told him. She wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Crap, crap, crap. Her and her big mouth had almost cost her the chance of becoming a Keeper. Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
  
‘You didn’t choose what?’ Snape asked suspiciously, his dark eyes trained on her.   
  
‘Nothing,’ Hermione said bluntly, not caring he would notice her avoidance. ‘Aren’t you supposed to teach me Occlumency … Professor?’  
  
‘Yes, yes, I suppose I am,’ Snape said with a triumphant smile. He raised his wand, and Hermione knew what he would be hoping to find. She only had a split-second to decide. ‘Prepare yourself. Legilimens!’  
  
Hermione flinched as the spell impacted on her body.   
  
She was eleven and the Sorting Hat commented on how well she would do in Slytherin. … She was twelve eating breakfast, while Mrs Weasley complained about her too skinny figure. … She was thirteen brushing her hair. … She was fifteen watching Tonks transform her nose into a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape’s.   
  
She swayed back and forth slightly when Snape lowered his wand with a scowl. ‘Dreadful,’ he sneered, stalking away like a giant bird of prey. ‘Don’t think for a moment I am going to applaud your ability to stay standing instead of crawling all over the floor like Potter did.’  
  
 _Crap, she knew she forgot to do something._  
  
‘Because that was the worst bit of resistance I have ever encountered in my life. At least Potter produced a Stinging Hex to repel my attack. You, with all your assumed intelligence,’ he sneered, turning around to face her, ‘did nothing.’  
  
Hermione bit her lip not to start laughing, because he hadn’t noticed only the last thing had been a real memory and she just couldn’t resist putting that one forth. Oh my… A very, very evil plan grew in her mind. This could become interesting.  
  
‘I wasn’t ready yet,’ she said softly, looking at her shoes to hide her facial expression behind huge amounts of her hair, while shifting on her feet, pretending to be embarrassed.   
  
‘You must always be ready; remain focussed, repel me with your mind, and there will be no need for any silly wand-waving. Now, for once, do what you read about. Clear your mind. Let go of all emotion. On the count of three … one, two, three; Legilimens!  
  
She was fourteen, raising her wand. With a blast that rattled the door, Snape was lifted of his feet and slammed into the wall as the trio had all simultaneously cast the Disarmament Charm to protect Sirius and Remus. … ‘THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!’ Snape howled, pointing at her and Harry, while Fudge looked positively appalled at the Potions Master’s behaviour. … She tossed the Time-Turner over Harry’s neck and gave it a good spin. … Buckbeak flew in front of the window; Sirius’s jaw dropped; ‘Alohamora!’ Hermione cast, and Sirius jumped behind her on the hippogriff.  
  
She’d made sure to end up on the floor this time. Her wand still clutched in her hand, unused, as she held onto her head, bending forward, pretending to be in agony. Her body shook; though, not from the invasion (as normally with Voldemort) but from suppressed laughter. She heard Snape breathing heavily a few feet away, trying to keep his composure, no doubt, after seeing the memories she had forced him to witness. As Hermione had suspected, Dumbledore had never informed the man how right he had been with his assumptions on Sirius’s miraculous escape that evening. Oh, this was terrific. Too bad she couldn’t share it with Harry and Ron later. They would have got a kick out of hearing it. What other memories could she…?   
  
Oh man, she should have thought of that one first!   
  
Looking forward to the next round, she decided to make sure she ended the session this time. After all, why pass on a perfectly fine excuse to curse the man? That would be a waste. Her revenge for his behaviour toward her in class had waited long enough. The only reason for that being she didn’t think she could get away with it in Hogwarts. Now she could. Ermmm… what hideous jinxes did she knew?   
  
Now, that one was fitting. Her eyes narrowed as she recalled his words perfectly.  _I see no difference._  
  
Hermione hardly heard Snape’s taunts about her appalling Occlumency performance, which apparently topped Potter’s with flying colours. She scrambled to her feet; her face red from the effort it took her not to laugh real hard in his sallow face. Fortunately, her red cheeks made Snape think she was embarrassed about her lacking abilities to keep him out and he sneered some more before basically ordering her to do better next time or else...   
  
Oh, she would do better.  _Promise; cross her heart and all that shit._  
  
‘Legilimens!’ Snape cast.  
  
Quickly, Hermione collapsed to her knees again, while placing those memories in view she wanted him to see.   
  
She was twelve setting Snape’s robes on fire. …. She was thirteen nicking Potions’ ingredients out of Snape’s personal stash for the Polyjuice Potion. … She was fourteen watching Professor Lupin instruct Neville how to deal with the Boggart.   
  
She felt the shift in her mind and knew Snape tried to flee the image by lowering his wand. But Hermione felt vindictive and focussed, clutching to her own wand, knowing Legilimency connections worked both ways after having performed the spell herself and having felt Voldemort instruct her in her mind, while she was going through his. Besides, Snape was no Lord Voldemort. Finally her skill at compartmentalising flourished, as she forced not only her but his mind to stay in this visual. Her wand grew hot in her hand, but she maintained the connection. And in full Technicolor, Snape got to witness the entire memory. Above all, he saw Boggart Snape stumble upon the impact of Neville’s Riddikulus, after which he was reduced to wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, while a huge crimson handbag swung from his hand. The whole class howled in laughter.   
  
‘Densaugeo!’ Hermione whipped her wand at Snape.   
  
He stumbled back; his hand flew to his mouth as his uneven, yellowish teeth grew to abnormal proportions. He turned away from her quickly, so he never saw how Hermione raised her head and smirked; a satisfied, dark glint flew through her brown eyes.   
  
 _There, no difference indeed, Professor._  
  
By the time Snape turned back, his teeth were back to normal. And Hermione had risen to her feet again, her face the perfect portrayal of innocence. This was, after all, not the first nor did she expect it to be the last time she had to fool a teacher. Hermione noticed the tension in his body and the calculating glare he sent her. Perhaps, she had overdone it?   
  
Oh well, she really couldn’t care less if he figured it out. It wasn’t like she risked getting a fair Potions grade from him anyway.   
  
‘Did you mean to produce a Teeth-Growing Hex?’ Snape asked coldly.   
  
‘No,’ she blatantly lied. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing; all I know is that I wanted it to be over.’  
  
‘As I thought,’ he replied in his silkiest of voices, watching her closely. ‘You let me get in too far. You lost control. You are just like Potter.’  
  
‘Thanks,’ Hermione said cheerfully.  
  
‘It’s not a compliment.’  
  
‘I know it was not meant as one,’ she said, folding her arms over each other triumphantly and lifting her chin.  
  
‘Fools who take pride in showing their silly emotions to anyone who will bare witness will never stand a chance at repelling the powers of a true Master in Legilimency. Only the strong can utter falsehoods in their presence. You obviously are not capable of such.’  
  
‘As where you are,’ Hermione sneered.   
  
Snape’s lip curled smugly. ‘Yes, as I am,’ he replied softly.  
  
‘I don’t think it is strength at all to hide your true feelings and emotions. The only way someone can really achieve it constantly is if you either lie to yourself or bury those feelings that make you human so deep they can’t reach you. That’s not strength, that’s weakness. What is it that you fear so much, Professor, that makes you want to turn into this-this,’ she waved her hand up and down at him to demonstrate what this was, since she obviously lacked the correct words to describe him, ‘instead of facing those demons head on?’   
  
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Snape hissed with clear suppressed anger.  
  
Hermione had to think about that one. She tilted her head and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she replied softly. ‘Anyone who feels the need to bully Neville as you do has to have some issues. So, yes, I suppose one could make a valid claim that I called you a coward.’  
  
His wand flashed.   
  
‘Protego!’ Hermione yelled.   
  
But Snape’s curse never made it to her shield. A second jet of light crashed into it from the side and diverted its path. The bedpost took a direct hit. It cracked and splinters flew around violently, impacting on her silvery shield. The roof of the four-poster sank several feet, swaying up and down, threatening to collapse any second. But its theatrical play was wasted on those present, because both Snape and Hermione’s heads were turned to the other side where  _He_  stood, suddenly visible, leaning with his butt against the dresser, one leg crossed over the other; his arms folded again - the perfect picture of ease, except for the wand in his hand.   
  
‘Severus,’ Lord Voldemort said quietly, ‘I do not recall giving you permission to use damaging curses on the girl.’  
  
‘My apologies, my Lord,’ Snape said, lowering his wand and turning toward him to bow his head – his face a blank mask. ‘I was not aware you wouldn’t want this dreadful lack of even a mild attempt at Occlumency to go unpunished.’  
  
‘Don’t try and insult my intelligence, Severus,’ Voldemort snarled, as he pushed away from the dresser and strode toward him. ‘You wanted to curse her, because she told you something you didn’t fancy hearing. It had nothing to do with her Occlumency skills, which, if I say so myself, were quite impressive.’   
  
His red eyes danced amused to Hermione, who he was pleased to notice had a hard time suppressing a smirk. Staging this little encounter had at least gained him one of his previous set goals. He knew now she would be able to occlude the truth from all those with average Legilimency skill. It would do. Especially since Dumbledore was no longer a risk. He also had been pleased to notice her self-confidence had to have improved for her to take a stand against Severus like that. The primary reason he had picked Snape was to see how Hermione would handle herself against someone she had a history with – most effectively apparently.  
  
However, he had to come out of hiding too soon. Lord Voldemort had hoped Snape would say or do something to Granger that would show him beyond a reasonable doubt on which side the man was on. He had a feeling if he could have let those two continue for awhile longer, he might have heard something he wasn’t supposed to hear. He’d never seen Snape’s blank façade crack so many times before. If this was the effect Granger had on him, he was going to poke around those wounds some more and see if it would lead him anywhere. Lord Voldemort never was one to let an opportunity slip when it presented itself on a silver platter. So, he focussed his full attention back on his real target.  
  
‘Impressive, Master?’ Snape asked, looking confused.   
  
‘Yes, very impressive,’ Voldemort replied – his face a blank façade now. ‘Considering how little information you gave her on how it was to be done, it is not surprising nobody achieves anything in your lessons and I thought you let Potter fail on purpose. You did let him fail on purpose, didn’t you Severus?’  
  
Hermione frowned, remembering Ron’s accusations.   
  
‘Of course,’ Snape said; his face even.   
  
‘Because I am beginning to get the idea the only reason Potter didn’t succeed might have been luck on my end that you lack severely in your chosen profession.’   
  
Snape said nothing.  
  
‘Perhaps it had absolutely nothing to do with your alleged loyalty to me,’ Voldemort said softly. They stood face-to-face now. Two absolutely blank faces, not revealing anything. ‘Perhaps you do all this on Dumbledore’s orders?’ speculated Voldemort.  
  
Worried about where this was heading, Hermione’s eyes darted between the two.   
  
‘Master,’ Snape said, feigning shock. ‘I live-’  
  
‘-to serve me,’ Voldemort finished dismissively. ‘So, you say, Severus. So you say. But yet I gave you the simple task to teach this intelligent girl Occlumency and you fail me. Dumbledore gave you the task to teach Potter Occlumency and you fail him. It makes me wonder. Perhaps it doesn’t say anything about your loyalties? Perhaps you are just an abhorrent teacher?’  
  
A laugh vibrated through the bedroom before it quickly turned into a coughing fit, as Hermione had slammed her hand to her mouth; but she wasn’t fooling anyone present.   
  
‘My Lord, I had just begun,’ Severus objected, glaring at Hermione, who was now seriously considering the benefits of dropping Potions as a subject.  
  
‘The start wasn’t very impressive either, Severus. Perhaps this is why Dumbledore only allows you to teach Potions, a concise subject where all the students can simply follow the recipe and not really need a teacher?’  
  
 _Oh Merlin, she died and gone to heaven._  
  
‘He asked me to teach Defence next year,’ Snape said evenly.   
  
But even Hermione could notice the slight signs of triumph there. Her eyes widened. What?! Snape was their new DADA teacher? Harry would go berserk when he found out. Crap, what if she hadn’t got an Outstanding for her DADA O.W.L.?  
  
Lord Voldemort stood frozen, narrowing his eyes, while looking directly at Snape. ‘Albus Dumbledore asked you for that subject?’   
  
‘Yes,’ Snape said. ‘Horace Slughorn agreed to come out of retirement.’  
  
Voldemort turned away and took a few steps to the door before turning around slowly, a calculating expression on his face. ‘He found Horace,’ Voldemort said slowly, stroking his wand thoughtfully. ‘And the man said yes?’  
  
Snape nodded. ‘Dumbledore had Potter with him.’  
  
Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. ‘Clever,’ he commented, amused, ‘Horace’s main weakness. Yes, the chance to collect Potter would be impossible to resist to Horace.’   
  
Snape snorted.  
  
 _Collect Harry? What the hell were they babbling about? Who was this Horace and did she need to warn Harry? Oh, she couldn’t, damn. Well, she could always keep a close eye on this new teacher._    
  
‘So, dear Albus handed you an obviously cursed position,’ Voldemort said, balancing his wand between his hands. ‘Interesting.’  
  
‘Superstitions and old wives’ tales,’ Snape said dismissively.   
  
‘If you say so,’ Voldemort said, his eyes glittered in amusement.  
  
‘I’ve seen those who held that job over the years; they couldn’t distinguish a hex from a jinx or even knew how to operate a wand. It’s no wonder they didn’t last long.’   
  
‘Professor Lupin was perfectly capable of doing the job,’ Hermione blurted out, annoyed. ‘Better than you. At least he knew Kappas come from Japan not Mongolia.’   
  
Voldemort snorted. ‘Mongolia?’   
  
Snape turned to her, angrily. ‘I told Finnegan the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia, I did not make a statement about its origins, Granger.’  
  
‘The essay had to include the origins of the species not the most commonly found place,’ Hermione hissed back.   
  
Snape glared at her. ‘And it was accepting those incomplete writings as a passable performance, which made Lupin such a poor teacher.’  
  
Hermione glared right back. ‘Professor Lupin treated everyone fair, unlike someone else I know, who has nothing better to do than try to misinterpret and sabotage their students’ work.’  
  
‘He is a weak fool,’ Snape snarled. ‘Let his best friend steal his girlfriend from under his very nose.’  
  
‘That wouldn’t be the same red head you fancied, Severus?’ Voldemort interrupted softly from the other side of the room. He’d moved there without them noticing.  
  
Snape froze on the spot. His face turned even paler than before. Hermione had never known that was possible.   
  
‘Lily Potter-Evans,’ Voldemort mused.   
  
 _Lily Potter-Evans, Harry’s mum?_  
  
Hermione looked confused from Snape to the Dark Lord, who had walked around them, had sat down on her bed, and was now relaxing against a pile of cushions with his hands behind his head. To her surprise, the post was intact again and the roof of the bed was no longer dangling. She hadn’t even noticed him casting. She’d been too busy arguing with Snape. She really had to learn to keep a closer eye on her environment.  
  
‘You remember her, don’t you Severus?’ Voldemort continued casually.  
  
‘My Lord, I fail to see-’ Snape started, his hands clasped behind his back. He had turned away from Hermione, abruptly.  
  
‘I do,’ Voldemort added, ignoring Severus and looking at Hermione. ‘Such a silly woman. She just wouldn’t get out of my way. Severus here wanted me to spare her.’   
  
Surprised, Hermione’s eyes flew sideways to her professor, but he just stood there like a wall of silence.   
  
‘Oh yes, he desired the woman,’ Voldemort continued blankly, watching Hermione who was focussed intently on her professor. ‘I do recall all the insane grovelling and begging for her life that occurred prior to my leaving.’   
  
It was like her professor had left the room completely; his quietness unnerved Hermione.   
  
Lord Voldemort shook his head. ‘When I saw her, I really didn’t quite get the fascination. She was very ordinary in her fear, all that screaming and pleading she did. Very unattractive.’  
  
Hermione noticed Snape’s knuckles were turning white behind his back, as he had clenched his hands to fists, while Lord Voldemort continued telling them about his encounter with Lily.   
  
‘I told her to get out of my way; told the Mudblood she could have Severus once I was done,’ he smirked. ‘I suppose that was the wrong thing to say, because she started crying. Not that I can really blame her for that.’ Briefly, his eyes rolled mockingly to the former Potions Professor and he sniggered. ‘But it is such a horrendous noise. Don’t you agree, Severus?’  
  
She was surprised Snape’s muscles weren’t popping out of their joints; the tension in his body was tangible. It filled the room.  
  
‘Please, please, not Harry, not Harry,’ Voldemort mocked. ‘Take me, kill me instead.’  
  
The tension in the room skyrocketed. Hermione shifted on her feet, feeling extremely uneasy.   
  
‘Women,’ Snape said in a disparaging tone, making a desperate attempt to lower the obvious suspicions. ‘Always playing the sacrificial lamb.’  
  
‘Indeed,’ Voldemort said slowly, suddenly turning his full gaze on Severus. ‘Would you like to see my memories of her foolish behaviour?’   
  
Hermione held her breath when she saw Snape had his wand drawn behind his back and he was clutching to it. She had to applaud Ollivander’s wand-making skills since the pressure on the stick seemed enormous, and still, it did not crack.   
  
‘If my Lord wishes to share them with me, I’d be most honoured,’ Snape said blankly.  
  
‘Oooh, I have so many things I’d wish to share with you, Severus,’ Lord Voldemort replied quietly, his wand was nowhere in sight.  
  
 _Quick note to self; never play poker with these two._  
  
The prolonged silence danced around her, made her hold her breath.   
  
Then, Snape moved. His Killing Curse blew up the empty bed. Hermione shrieked when she saw Voldemort apparate behind Snape near the far wall. Snape swirled around.   
  
‘Avada Kedavra!’ Voldemort cast.   
  
Almost in slow-motion, Hermione witnessed the dash of green speed toward Severus Snape.   
  
Crack! Two wizards apparated into centre of the room. ‘Umph,’ Gellert grunted, as the Killing Curse collided into his chest. His hand let go of Albus’s instinctively when he got blasted from his feet right into Severus Snape. The two of them flew through the air and crash-landed into the debris that was Hermione’s bed.   
  
‘Get him out of here!’ Albus shouted to Gellert, his wand drawn and ready.   
  
But Lord Voldemort was the first to disapparate. Dumbledore was utterly surprised, but turned his attention to Hermione quickly. ‘Are you alright, Miss Granger?’   
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
‘Come,’ Dumbledore said, nodding his head in the direction of two struggling wizards between the bed’s debris. ‘We are leaving.’  
  
Hermione looked at the floorshow. Dazed, Grindelwald tried to move up, but he crashed back on top of Severus who grunted painfully in objection. ‘Get off of me,’ Snape hissed.   
  
‘Yes, you’re welcome,’ Gellert replied dryly. ‘I always enjoy taking Unforgivables in the chest for ungrateful bastards.’  
  
‘Why aren’t you dead?’ Hermione asked rather bluntly.  
  
‘Keepers can’t kill each other; there are times when that actually does come in handy,’ Dumbledore answered, gesturing at Hermione to come to him. She wanted to take a step forward, but she wasn’t feeling particularly great all of the sudden.   
  
‘It would truly be handy if we couldn’t hurt each other too. Eh, watch the ribs,’ Gellert objected when Snape shoved him to the side.   
  
Hermione shook her head, took a deep breath, and tried to focus.  
  
‘What Keepers? Who are you? Why are you here, Albus?’ Snape asked. ‘How did you get through his wards?’  
  
‘Can’t say; Gellert Grindelwald, at your service; because Albus is an idiot; and easy does it,’ Gellert answered smugly. ‘Just concentrate and voila!’   
  
Snape scowled, scrambled to his feet, and fell down again.   
  
‘Come on, people,’ Dumbledore reprimanded, ‘we need to leave, now.’  
  
‘I am not feeling very well,’ Hermione said, worried.   
  
Alarmed, Dumbledore paced to her, lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Hermione?’   
  
She blinked. ‘I feel … odd.’   
  
Dumbledore stared at her; he waved his wand above her head. ‘Much better,’ Hermione said, relieved. ‘Oh…’ she added, disturbed, clasping her hand to her mouth. ‘Not for long.’   
  
She ran to the bin next to her desk and emptied her stomach. Grindelwald giggled when Snape crashed to the floor once more. Concerned, Dumbledore looked from Hermione to Snape. ‘Severus?’   
  
‘Something is off,’ Snape snarled. ‘I can’t seem to… I don’t know.’ He shook his head.  
  
Dumbledore stepped back. He waved his wand through the air with grace, moving around thoughtfully. ‘Gellert,’ he said slowly. ‘I-’  
  
‘Present!’ Grindelwald said, raising his hand, giggling uncontrollably.   
  
Dumbledore paced to him and grabbed his shoulders. ‘Gellert, can you still focus enough for a disapparation?’  
  
‘Yes, Professor Baumgartner. Deliberation, deter-deterring. No that’s not right. I know this.’  
  
Dumbledore shook him. ‘Come on, Gellert, focus. You are not at Durmstrang. He has erected a Befuddlement Ward and something else even worse that I can’t isolate long enough for identification; you need to get us out of here before we are all incapacitated.’  
  
‘Determination!’ Snape shouted, nudging Gellert in the side.   
  
‘Oh, thank you my friend.’ Gellert nudged him back, which caused Snape to start puking. ‘Ja, es gibt mir nur einen-’  
  
Dumbledore walked away from them, frowning. Without Gellert, there was no way out, and from the looks of things, they really needed to leave. He was not sick yet, but his inability to tell what else Tom had cast on this chamber was letting him know he was not unaffected by it either. ‘Hermione?’ Albus asked, squatting down beside her, concerned. ‘How do you feel?’  
  
‘Just peachy keen,’ she muttered; she had sat down on the floor and was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.   
  
Dumbledore placed his hand on her forehead. ‘You are burning up,’ he said, shocked.   
  
Green light illuminated the chamber; Snape’s body tossed over, lifelessly; Dumbledore flew to his feet and staggered sideways – he grabbed the desk for balance. Lord Voldemort paced past the Headmaster like he didn’t exist. He squatted down. ‘Hermione,’ Voldemort said calmly, ‘this is disgustingly sweet, but you need to drink it all.’   
  
He placed the vial against her lips and poured the potion down her throat. Hermione swallowed it and started coughing. Little bits came back up; a tiny swish and flick of his wand, and she could not open her mouth anymore. She didn’t know what was right and wrong. What was up and down, right or left, black or white? She felt she was suffocating, dying. ‘Swallow it all, Hermione,’ he ordered. ‘Now.’  
  
She complied. The world swirled and the next thing she knew she was airborne. He’d lifted her in his arms. Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. Fresh air entered her lungs almost painfully. She could breathe again.   
  
‘You two know your way out, I presume,’ Voldemort said, smirking at the puking Grindelwald and the Headmaster who had a hard time staying standing.   
  
With a crack, Lord Voldemort disapparated with Hermione in his arms. A second later, all her belongings vanished; then, all his belongings vanished from the other chambers, after which the wards fell and the air in the room cleared.   
  
‘Well,’ Gellert said, breaking the long silence, while Albus stared at his dead teacher, ‘that was a huge success. Any more brilliant ideas?’  
  
Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes glittered dangerously. He took on a determined stance and flourished his wand around above his head in a familiar pattern.  
  
Gellert's eyes widened. 'Albus!' he yelled frightened. 'I don't think THAT will be the solution!' He covered his head to protect his eyes from the bright white flash that occurred in the room.  
  
A loud eerie howl filled the room, spreading onwards and outwards, across the globe, to find that one ear it was supposed to reach. Cocking her head and erecting a single ear in the sound's direction, a skinny white wolf with grey spots on her fur sniffed the air and began running.   
  
-


	21. Chapter 21

**  
  
Chapter Twenty-One**  
  
A wolf howl echoed through the cave. ‘Not my problem,’ Sharasvati muttered, feeling incredibly resentful to Riddle for still not having replied back to her almighty being; so she hoped this would raise a multitude of problems for him to deal with, and she relaxed back on her couch lazily.  
  
\---  
  
After Albus placed a sheet over Severus’s dead body, he rose quietly. ‘Friend of yours?’ Gellert asked softly from within one of the comfy armchairs, withstanding the urge to let out a relieved sigh when Albus didn’t notice what he had nicked.   
  
‘Yes,’ Albus said solemnly.  
  
‘I am sorry.’  
  
‘Severus knew this could happen. He was prepared for it.’  
  
‘That doesn’t make it any easier.’  
  
‘No, I suppose not.’   
  
It turned silent.   
  
‘Do you know his burial wishes?’ asked Gellert to break the uncomfortable silence.  
  
‘Yes, but the Princes’ tomb at Godric’s Hollow excludes any and all descendants of Eileen.’ Albus stared at the white sheet. ‘He can have my grave there. I have different plans.’  
  
Gellert raised his eyebrows. ‘As in the Resurrection Stone?’  
  
Albus smiled and sat down in the other chair. ‘Still obsessing over those Hallows, Gellert?’  
  
‘Eh, you said it. The stone is the only thing you are still missing to become Master of Death.’  
  
‘I don’t have the cloak either.’  
  
‘But you know where it is,’ Gellert said deviously, making a little nicking motion with his hand. ‘Two out of three.’  
  
‘One out of three,’ Albus replied mischievously, wiggling the wand in his hand.   
  
‘Ugh, no need to rub it in.’  
  
Albus chuckled. ‘No Hallows, I’ve put it in my will that I want to be buried on the grounds of Hogwarts.’  
  
‘Hogwarts?’ Gellert replied, puzzled. ‘Why would you...?’ he paused and stared at Albus. Suddenly enlightened, his eyes widened. ‘Death enchantments, you placed protective death enchantments on the grounds!’ He slapped Albus in his shoulder, delighted.  
  
‘Shhh, we don’t want it to become public knowledge, Gellert.’  
  
‘I say, those enchantments are very illegal. What would people say if they knew the great Albus Dumbledore used the epitome of the Dark Arts on the premises of Hogwarts?’  
  
‘Thank you?’ Albus suggested ironically.   
  
Gellert sniggered. ‘They won’t work fully until you die, though.’  
  
‘They won’t be necessary until I die. He won’t target the school personally as long as I am there.’  
  
‘Overconfident much?’  
  
‘Simple Keeper strategy.’  
  
‘You came after me, despite that we were both Keepers,’ Gellert disagreed.  
  
‘I meant to stop you, not kill you. We know Tom has a different agenda in mind.’  
  
‘No shit,’ Gellert snorted. ‘Those enchantments won’t work fully too if they do not bury your body there. People are bound to oppose your wish; it is, after all, a school, not a graveyard. It’s a huge gamble to take since you can’t inform those idiots that run the ministry in this country why you want this done.’  
  
‘I believe Minerva will have it covered. She is excellent at twisting people’s arms around.’   
  
‘Still a gamble,’ Gellert replied, giggling at the visual in his mind of McGonagall wrestling Rufus Scrimgeour down.  
  
‘Gellert?’ Albus asked after a long pause.   
  
‘Oh dear, I know that tone,’ Gellert said, hiding his eyes behind his hand in mock fear.  
  
‘Can I count on your vote when Ljudmila calls for one?’  
  
‘She won’t call a vote, Albus. She will reach a decision and the outcome will not be pretty either way if she uses the key.’  
  
‘If she does call for a vote?’ he waited expectantly.  
  
Gellert groaned. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he said, tossing his hands in the air in surrender. ‘Sure, why not? I am probably already on that maniac’s shit-list anyway.’  
  
Albus looked sideways, chuckling. ‘Everyone breathing is.’  
  
‘Trying to make me feel insignificant?’ Gellert replied in mock indignation. ‘After I-’  
  
 **BANG!**  
  
A vortex, formed by a blazing wind that circled around, emitted an eerie high howling noise, and in the centre of it all, appeared a skinny white wolf. Its grey spotted fur rustled calmly. The wolf tilted her head back and howled with all her might. The wind died down and the wolf stepped forward, blinking her teeth threateningly.   
  
‘Hello Ljudmila,’ Albus welcomed her, rising from his chair. ‘I am glad you could make it on such short notice.’  
  
Gellert tipped his imaginary hat.  
  
‘Albus, Gellert,’ the wolf barked and shifted back into human form instantaneously. The elderly, stately witch pulled a chain with an ancient key out of her burgundy robes. ‘If you want me to open that box of Pandora, you better have a valid reason, Albus.’   
  
‘Hermione Jean Granger,’ Dumbledore merely said.  
  
‘Good enough reason for me,’ Volkova replied, lifting the chain over her head.   
  
Gellert scratched his neck uncomfortable, but he didn’t comment on the events at hand. Ljudmila Volkova held out the key. It clicked into an invisible lock in the air. White light and dark shadows leaked from the invisible keyhole, showing its outline in different aspects of grey.  
  
‘Alohamora!’ Volkova spoke out loud. It was as simple as it was effective. The key started turning and turning, faster and faster, until another click sounded, causing dark and white smoke to whirl into the chamber in a square shape. ‘The doorway is formed,’ Volkova continued, according to protocol. ‘Who calls for its usage?’  
  
‘I do, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore.’  
  
The door seemingly blazed with magic and turned more physical. It’s blue wood almost tangible to touch.  
  
‘The transient’s name.’  
  
‘Hermione Jean Granger,’ Dumbledore continued.   
  
A bronze doorknob became visible.   
  
‘Should anyone object let them speak-’  
  
‘I do,’ Li Mei spoke furiously from behind them, not letting Ljudmila finish.   
  
The door’s features blurred immediately, and a ferocious howl came from behind it. A crash sounded, and the smoky outline trembled.  
  
‘Are you all out of your mind?’ Li Mei snarled, stepping into the bedroom – wand in hand. ‘Don’t you remember what happened to the last candidate who had to go through that door prematurely!?’  
  
\---  
  
The sickening sensation of another Apparation did not do wonders for Hermione’s already upset stomach. It also didn’t help that the place they apparated into had a pronounced smell of dust and decay about it. Lord Voldemort swished his wand about in short bursts, while she clutched to his robes tightly – the back of her wrist clasped to her mouth, trying to stop the more than likely not so desirable outcome of vomiting all over the Dark Lord. Not that it would be her fault. She’d lost track of the amount of Apparitions he had done in a brief amount of time, and it was his stupid ward that got her sick in the first place; but she also knew who she was dealing with, Lord I-Never-Accept-Any-Responsibility-For-Anything-That-Goes-Wrong.   
  
Despite her physical condition, she had taken notice of some of the places they’d been. She’d seen him disassemble his Potions’ lab at Malfoy Manor with two simple flicks of his wrists, after which he had used a Banishing Charm on everything. Where he sent it all to, she had no idea. To her absolute horror, he had apparated them straight into her parents’ house, which according to Albus Dumbledore should have been impossible. Only to find all her belongings were there, which he collected (including her Hogwarts trunk), and then, disapparated again right before her mother opened her bedroom door to check what the noise was about. And they’d been to several other places, where he did Godric only knew what before moving on to Godric knew where and making her thoroughly dizzy.   
  
However, her will bested her stomach and she was able to keep everything in. Though, she couldn’t tell for how much longer she’d stay this successful. Hermione took a deep breath and looked up questioningly. Lord Voldemort didn’t acknowledge her existence, but continued casting behind her back, while keeping a firm grip on her waist. Hermione turned her head to the side. A barred window gave her a glimpse of an overgrown lawn and a neglected garden, and in the distance below, she saw a little village. Cobwebs trailed between the long, moth-eaten, velvet curtains and all across the ceiling’s wooden beams. Layers and layers of dust had been collected on the ancient furniture she could see on her right and left.   
  
Merlin, they obviously hadn’t arrived wherever he planned on going. Well, if he wanted to get puked on, another Apparation would get him his wish. Right now, she felt more than happy to oblige. A screeching noise sounded behind her. She tilted her head to witness the hearth-covering grate move to the side at his command. When an eerie howl oscillated around them, his body stiffened abruptly.   
  
‘Wolves?’ Hermione muttered, looking to the window confused. ‘Out here?’ she added, frowning. ‘What?’ she snapped when she watched him looking at her incredulously. ‘I am not stupid. I know natural wolves have been wiped out in the UK almost three-hundred years ago, and it is daylight; so it can’t be a were. But I am sure I heard something that sounded like one. Maybe an Animagus?’ she muttered to herself, puzzled.  
  
‘You heard it?’ Voldemort said questioningly, ignoring her speculations with regards to the origin of the sound. His eyes narrowed. ‘You could hear the call?’  
  
 _Call?_  
  
‘Erm… I heard a wolf howl?’ she stated uncertain. Hermione had no idea what call he could possibly mean, and why anyone wouldn’t be able to hear such loud, penetrating howling. Her ears still whistled for crying out loud.  
  
He smirked. ‘You heard correctly,’ he said positively delighted. ‘This is most insightful news.’  
  
Hermione scowled. ‘Well?’ she said impatiently. ‘Aren’t you going to share your wonderful insightfulness?’  
  
‘Some things are better left unknown. We wouldn’t want you to grow complacent, my dear,’ he said, patting her on the head.   
  
‘Because there is such a huge risk at that,’ Hermione snarled.   
  
He grinned; his red eyes danced with mirth. ‘Apparently, dear Albus is bringing in reinforcements. Though I sincerely doubt Volkova will grant him what he needs, it may be prudent for me to go make sure she doesn’t when I am done here. The woman has been known to make the occasional incomprehensible choice and she does hold the key.’   
  
‘Wow, thanks for clearing that up,’ Hermione said sarcastically.   
  
She only got a small, taunting nod back in response and he focussed back on the hearth behind her. A stream of unidentifiable syllables left the Dark Lord’s mouth in a fluent hiss.   
  
 _Parseltongue, crap!_  
  
Quickly, Hermione’s eyes scanned the dust-filled floor, but it was empty of any creepy movement. Thank Rowena. She really, really didn’t like snakes. Relieved, she looked back at the hearth, which bricks were now in the process of reassembling. Apparently, he controlled them via Parseltongue – convenient for Harry; it was just another thing she filed away on the slowly increasing list for future usage. The bricks rolled away, heightening and widening the hearth, so a grown man could stand in the created alcove.   
  
 _Oh no, not another magical passageway._  
  
‘I will puke all over you,’ she threatened. To her surprise, her voice was clear and steady, unlike her still queasy stomach.   
  
‘That,’ Voldemort paused, ‘would be inadvisable.’   
  
‘Really?’ she mocked, shaking her head. ‘I hadn’t considered that before. Thanks for the warning.’  
  
Red eyes glittered down and she was certain his lipless mouth was in the process of forming that annoying trademark smirk of his. ‘You’re welcome,’ he responded ironically, and indeed, smirking.   
  
Merlin, how she felt like taking a good swing at him. Alas, unlike with Draco, there was no good target in that face of his. Perhaps it was why he had disposed of his nose. Too many women had hit on it.   
  
He sniggered. ‘Actually-,’ he started.  
  
Hermione groaned. She really didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence, considering his upbeat, smug tone.  
  
‘-nose or not, they usually hit on all of me,’ he finished, gesturing with his hand up and down his very marvellous being as illustration.  
  
‘Before or after you called out  _“Imperio!”_?’ Hermione replied sweetly.  
  
Slowly, he leaned into her – his breath brushed her neck and she shivered. ‘Why, is that a suggestion, Granger?’ he whispered. ‘Because I do recall how eager you were before and sex performed under the Imperius Curse does have some very interesting advantages.’  
  
Ugh. Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did she even bother? With his manipulative word skills, it was a mission impossible to gain the upper hand. Something glided on the ground in the corner of her eye, something long and venomous.   
  
‘Eek!’ Hermione called out and jumped in Lord Voldemort’s arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; so she was no longer standing on the same floor the snake moved on.   
  
‘Don’t tell me you are frightened of snakes?’ he asked, sniggering.  
  
‘They are not my favourite thing,’ Hermione replied in a slightly higher voice than normally, while she glared directly at him during the deliberate use of the plural pronoun.  
  
A condescending snort was his reply, followed by a teasing, ‘But Nagini is such a cute, little cobra.’  
  
‘Little? Little!’ Hermione objected. ‘It must be ten feet long.’  
  
‘Twelve,’ he corrected, amused.   
  
‘Even better,’ she sneered sarcastically.  
  
‘Indeed,’ he concurred, unabashed. ‘So I do have to wonder why you think this-,’ he pointed from the floor to her body, ‘is high enough to be safe from her?’   
  
He added something to Nagini in Parseltongue, while Hermione followed his gesturing with her eyes. To her absolute horror, the huge snake lifted its triangular head and rose, standing on its body for about four feet into the air. When Nagini flicked its forked tongue at her, Hermione tried to scoot away in Voldemort’s arms; but he held on tightly, shaking with laughter.   
  
‘Will you keep that poisonous thing away from me!’ she squeaked panicky.   
  
‘She won’t bite you, Hermione,’ Voldemort replied, still entertained. His eyes glittered and he licked her neck deviously. ‘Mmm, I have to agree; she does taste nicely,’ he said to the snake, with a sideway teasing glance at Hermione.   
  
Abruptly, Hermione withdrew one of her arms from around his neck and yanked her wand from her pocket. ‘Get rid of it or I will,’ she threatened through clenched teeth, changing the mood in the room instantaneously.  
  
Voldemort swirled, turning them one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. She no longer had a direct aim at Nagini. Crap! She wiggled, moving her arm so she could still curse the snake. ‘From this distance, all Nagini has to do is spit, Hermione,’ he hissed in her ear, no longer laughing, and he tightened his grip around her torso painfully, ‘you’ll be incapacitated before you have the chance to curse her.’  
  
‘Considering our close proximity,’ Hermione hissed back in his ear, ‘I’d say there is a huge risk of her hitting you instead of me, especially if we’re moving. Sure you want to take your chance at that happening? Because I will go for that Unforgivable Grindelwald suggested.’  
  
‘If you plan to kill Nagini, Granger, I suggest you seriously factor in the necessity to kill me too, because you will not enjoy what I will do to you afterward.’   
  
He flicked his wrist and caught his wand in his hand, poking it between her ribs immediately. Hermione tensed, tightening her grip on his body. Their standoff gained a high level of intimacy, due to their close physical contact and the sudden seriousness of the consequences which would follow. Her ribcage expanded against his chest as she inhaled. She closed her eyes briefly upon feeling her hair tickle her cheek when he moved his cheek, brushing against hers. Hermione had a clear shot at Nagini, but he was bound to retaliate before her curse would even hit the snake. It was kind of a miracle he hadn’t cursed her already.   
  
However, he seemed to wait for her to make her choice. His ego obviously did not consider the possibility of her following through on her threat. He waited for her to yield. She was certain of it; otherwise he would have cursed her. ‘Tell it to leave the room,’ Hermione breathed against his ear, not backing down.   
  
‘You will lose, Hermione,’ he warned her quietly.   
  
‘So will you,’ she replied, determined.  
  
The tension in her body was painful in her muscles. Her neck ached from the strain. And she knew she could not win this, but somehow, it didn’t matter. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of surrendering right now. Besides, she remembered clearly how badly Ron’s dad had got hurt; she didn’t want to take her chances with this particular snake. Well, it had to be the same one. How many humungous snakes could one person have?   
  
 _Scratch that. She didn’t want to know._  
  
They stood there silently, unmoving, for what seemed like hours when, suddenly, a stream of Parseltongue syllables left his lips against her cheek. It flowed fluently across the room and made her shudder in his arms. Hermione blinked. Did he just give up? She began to relax when Nagini slid somewhat away from them, while Lord Voldemort continued speaking in that sibilant hiss. Slowly, her grip on him loosened and she had a hard time keeping her eyes open and her wand aimed, while those strange foreign sounds wrapped around her and made her calm and sleepy.   
  
 _Wait a sec. He was cursing her!_  She clutched to her wand and fought against the sensation.  
  
‘S-stop,’ she stuttered, almost dozing of.  
  
He licked and sucked at her skin in between the flow of his unidentifiable speech. Dazed, she tilted her head, allowing him better access with a moan, leaning against him. He switched to English. ‘That’s it, little one,’ he whispered with a kiss. ‘Relaxxxx,’ he hissed, moving on to more Parseltongue at the end of the order.   
  
Magic trailed down her spine, causing her to twitch in his arms. He squatted down and seated them on the floor in one lithe move. To her surprise, the dust seemed to be some magical illusion. Absentmindedly, she made a form with her wand in it, but it did not stay visible. Quickly, dust filled the eight-shaped path, she had trailed in it. Curious, Hermione tilted her head. The same thing occurred behind the snake circling them. The snake! She realised she had lowered her wandarm some time ago and tried to raise it again.   
  
‘Don’t,’ Voldemort ordered in a low tone of voice. ‘This will help you get over your phobia for snakes.’  
  
‘It’s not a phobia if something is really dangerous,’ Hermione denied. The sleepiness had subsided; but she still felt unusually calm and relaxed, not at all afraid as she had been before.   
  
‘But she’s not dangerous to you,’ Voldemort countered, ‘which you know. Hence your fear for Nagini is disproportional.’  
  
‘Disproportional? She only is not dangerous to me if your control over her is absolute. It’s a wild animal not a tame pet. Parseltongue is no guarantee it will do what you want it to all the time.’  
  
‘My control over Nagini is hundred percent, Hermione.’  
  
‘Sure,’ she muttered disbelievingly. ‘If I got a Sickle every time a wizard got bitten-’  
  
‘My control is magically reinforced,’ Voldemort interrupted. ‘Now unless you have the audacity to consider my capabilities are flawed, you will pocket your wand and trust me. It’s highly inconvenient for both of us if you freak out every time there is a snake nearby, because my presence attracts them.’  
  
‘I don’t freak out about every snake,’ Hermione said sultry, pocketing her wand. ‘Just those who have a track record of killing people.’  
  
‘Nagini only kills my enemies, dear. You, my little apprentice,’ he took a hold of her head and kissed her forehead, ‘do not qualify for the term.’ He beckoned at Nagini.   
  
‘Ermm…’ Hermione looked doubtful at the approaching snake.   
  
‘Trust me,’ he breathed against her lips.   
  
Hermione parted her lips slightly. She closed her eyes when he slid his tongue inside. As they deepened the kiss, his left hand came to rest on the back of her right hand. His fingers loosely held on when he guided her hand to the side and she felt something slick and slippery glide underneath the palm of her hand. Surprised, she pressed her hand into his, backing away from the snake.   
  
‘Trust me,’ he demanded, capturing her eyes with his intensely. ‘Contact is necessary for this spell to work.’  
  
She allowed him to rest her hand back on the snake’s skin; Nagini slithered on. ‘She feels warm, smooth, and … dry,’ Hermione said, surprised. She looked down and watched calmly when the diamond patterned tail curled around her wrist.   
  
‘What’d you expected, slimy?’ Voldemort asked, smirking.   
  
‘I suppose,’ Hermione said, distracted. She lifted her hand slowly to get a closer look at the scales and the intricate pattern on the tail. ‘It’s the way their skin glistens, which makes you think- eek!’ She jerked when a forked tongue flicked against her cheek.   
  
Annoyed, Hermione turned to the other side where Nagini’s head swung from side-to-side. If she wasn’t sure it was impossible, she’d have said the snake was having fun at her expense. It seemed to be smirking, and that hiss sounded an awful lot like a snigger to Hermione; so she glared at the snake. Nagini flicked her tongue again. The movement was so abrupt Hermione backed her head away but did it too slowly, and her nose got hit. Now, she was certain the snake laughed silently.   
  
‘It’s not funny,’ she hissed at it.  
  
‘It is … a bit,’ Voldemort sniggered (not so silently). ‘She’s just memorising your smell for future reference.’  
  
‘Well, it’s not necessary to do it as if you’re about to eat me,’ Hermione spoke to Nagini.   
  
The snake froze in its swing and tilted its head. Then, slowly, it coiled over her shoulder and glided down to her lap. Nagini sneaked underneath her shirt and began curling around her waist multiple times. ‘Ermm…’ Hermione said, looking at Voldemort questioningly; because, beside the snake, she also felt some kind of magic swirling around her – something with a very dark signature.  
  
‘She seems to like you.’  
  
‘Okaaaay,’ Hermione said, stretching out the vowel to emphasise her doubt, while she turned into a snakelike version of the Michelin man.   
  
‘And she’s borrowing your body heat for herself.’   
  
He hissed something in Parseltongue after that and Nagini’s head resurfaced from underneath her shirt to settle in her lap. Hermione stroked her quietly. ‘What’s with the magic?’   
  
‘It took away your idiotic, unwarranted fear of snakes.’  
  
‘I didn’t mean the spell you cast on me at the beginning. I meant this magic, right now,’ she waved through the air. ‘It almost seems like its coming from the snake, but it feels like yours…’ she added, puzzled, stroking the snake’s head again.   
  
‘I’ve connected with the snake, so she will protect you when I am not here,’ he replied evenly; his face and posture were inexpressive.   
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. ‘How?’  
  
‘Why don’t you, first, focus on your assignment and every spell in those books I handed you, Hermione, before you start inquiring about other advanced dark arts spells?’ he evaded the question.  
  
‘It’s just … this snake isn’t exactly indigenous to the UK, and the Ministry-’ she stopped when she saw the pitying glance he sent her way. ‘Well,’ she snapped, ‘I thought you would be all for not drawing attention to anything wizarding related. It makes perfect sense to restrict ownership of dangerous creatures to avoid detection.’  
  
‘Says she who owns a Kneazle, unlicensed.’  
  
Hermione turned red. ‘It’s a cat.’  
  
‘Some cat,’ he mocked.  
  
‘Everyone thinks it is a cat, because it’s only half-Kneazle; so it’s not drawing any attention at all,’ she said triumphantly.   
  
‘Unlicensed ownership of what you now admit is a magically altered creature. My-my, Granger, care to explain how someone your age felt the need to break at least six Ministry Laws on Creature Creation?’ he asked, folding his arms in front him, pretending to be the Ministry’s Inquisition.  
  
‘I didn’t create it. I bought it at Magical Menagerie,’ Hermione objected, wanting to put her hands in her sides, but being unable to do so due to Nagini’s presence.  
  
‘Really?’ Voldemort asked, mockingly. ‘Got any witnesses to prove that statement?’  
  
‘Of course, the shop’s owner knows.’  
  
He snorted. ‘If you think she will admit to selling an illegal animal to a minor, you are sorely mistaken, Granger. She will lose her shop if she does.’  
  
‘Harry and Ron saw it there.’  
  
‘Did Potter and Weasley – your totally objective friends who would never lie for you – witness the actual purchase of said illegal animal?’ Voldemort asked matter-of-factly.  
  
‘Er – well, no, they left before I bought it; but they saw it.’  
  
‘So, your friends saw an orange cat in the shop and left, which gave you the idea to smuggle your homemade creature in its place, pretending it was the same animal,’ he added with a smug smirk.  
  
‘No, I-I… Ooooh crap,’ she said heartfelt.   
  
‘Ooooh yessss,’ Voldemort hissed, delighted. ‘Shall I book the room next to Lucius for you?’  
  
‘It’s not like Kneazles are even dangerous,’ Hermione grumbled.   
  
‘The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stated Kneazles are. They are a Class Three Threat in a classification that only reaches up to five. I’d like to point out to the entire Wizengamot that we have no idea how much more dangerous this half-breed could be,’ Voldemort taunted.  
  
‘The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is filled with nothing but morons,’ Hermione muttered, disgruntled, remembering among others the ridiculous, phoney “trial” of Buckbeak.   
  
‘Winning argument, Granger. You’d get my vote if you’d broaden it to include the entire Ministry.’  
  
‘Goes without saying.’   
  
‘True,’ he acknowledged. ‘Now let’s get off this dust-filled floor.’   
  
While Lord Voldemort rose with ease, Hermione glanced at the snake draped around her. Nagini seemed quite comfortable and not at all inclined to move. But a quick order from him made the snake slither away before she could even mention her inability to rise with its considerable weight around her. She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her flush against him, wrapping his arms around her and sneaking his hands underneath her shirt.   
  
‘I can’t blame Nagini for wanting to stay here,’ he whispered, caressing the skin on her back.   
  
\---  
  
Back at Malfoy Manor, a huge debate went on. Gellert yawned loudly. The others turned their heads. ‘Are we boring you?’ asked Mei.  
  
‘Somewhat,’ he replied, directing a wink at Albus. ‘He has my vote,’ Gellert loosely stated, before he rose and walked to the door.   
  
‘Where do you think you are going?’ Ljudmila demanded to know. ‘We are not done here.’  
  
‘Tom’s wards are down.’  
  
‘And?’   
  
‘Obviously,’ Gellert replied, rolling his eyes, ‘it means anyone can disturb our meeting. I’d rather that did not happen while you use the key, since it is clear you are going to. I’ll go downstairs and tell Draco to keep everyone away from this area for the time being.’ He turned in the doorway. ‘Good luck with that burial plan of yours,’ he winked at Albus again and swirled away.  
  
‘Burial plan?’ Mei asked, looking at Albus questioningly.  
  
‘You know,’ he replied.  
  
‘Oh, Hogwarts,’ she said, enlightened. ‘You told Gellert?’   
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘Do you think that’s wise?’  
  
‘Can we focus back on Hermione’s situation?’ Ljudmila inquired sternly. ‘Mei, you seem to be the only one with doubts.’  
  
‘I don’t think the key should be used this lightly. I see why you think you can, Ljudmila, but still… the risk it poses to Hermione is tremendous. If he doesn’t…’ she shook her head.  
  
‘He will,’ Albus replied certain.   
  
‘Positive,’ Ljudmila added, nodding in support.   
  
Mei raised her hands in surrender. ‘Very well, I withdraw my objections. Go ahead.’  
  
Once more, an ancient key got placed into an invisible keyhole and turned around to form a magical doorway. But unlike before, this time, the ritual proceeded without disturbance. When the blue door was fully formed, it vanished from sight.  
  
\---  
  
A lock clicked. Swiftly, Lord Voldemort let go of her and swirled around, glaring at the smoked outline of a door, which rapidly became more and more substantial.   
  
‘What’s that?’ asked Hermione curiously, stepping next to him.  
  
His eyes darted between the door and Hermione. ‘Nothing you want to find out,’ he hissed angrily, pushing her behind him and flourishing his wand at the door. Darkness surrounded it, evaporated the outline.   
  
‘Why not? What did you do?’ asked Hermione, peeking around his tall figure.  
  
‘Bought us some time. Now shut up and let me think.’  
  
The sheer intensity of his speech made her comply. That and the loud crash followed by some very, very scary animalistic sounds coming from behind the darkness. Her stomach knotted and she felt a chill of fear creeping up her spine.  
  
‘Apparating away won’t be fast enough. Disillusionment Charms won’t work. Wards won’t hold forever. Outrunning it is not an option,’ he glanced at Hermione again and shook his head. ‘They must be barking mad to go to this much length. I thought Ljudmila had more sense. This is too soon. You are not ready.’ Lord Voldemort tilted his head back and let out a deep breath.   
  
‘Ready for what?’ asked Hermione in a tiny voice.  
  
‘It’s,’ he halted and then laughed. He looked back at her in sheer delight. ‘You are not ready,’ he repeated exuberantly. ‘It will kill you.’ His laugh rolled around her.   
  
‘Glad that is good news to someone,’ Hermione said dryly.   
  
‘It’s wonderful news,’ Voldemort replied cheerfully, yanking her against him. ‘It’s the loophole I need. All I need you to do is be dead for a little while.’  
  
‘Sure, why not?’ Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Sounds like a brilliant plan to me.’  
  
He sniggered. ‘I meant magically dead; I can’t really kill you, remember? That,’ he pointed over his shoulder to the slowly reappearing doorway, ‘on the other hand, can. It will find your magic wherever it is and pull you in. You need to trust me with it.’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Hermione snarled sarcastically, ‘that worked out swell for me beforrrr-’   
  
Hermione collapsed in his arms when his curse hit her. Quickly, he withdrew her magic out of her body and laid her on the floor. Lord Voldemort hissed and spitted without taking in breath. The concrete floor of the hearth turned into a liquid and he turned to Nagini.   
  
‘Take her below and watch her; I’ll be back after I’ve had the pleasure of killing every council member involved in this,’ he hissed in Parseltongue, swirling around with his wand in hand. The door opened abruptly. A dash of green left Lord Voldemort’s wand immediately as he got pulled in.   
  
\---  
  
‘What’s keeping Gellert?’ Li Mei asked, looking at the door of the bedroom. ‘Surely, he has spoken to Draco by now.’   
  
Ljudmila smiled. ‘He probably is making a run for it.’  
  
‘It’s coming,’ Albus warned. ‘Get in position.’  
  
‘Already?’ Mei questioned, checking the time.  
  
A blackened, smoked door appeared dead centre of the bedroom. With a flash, it blew open and Lord Voldemort stepped out with a vile smile on his face. ‘Not who you were expecting?’ he sneered, looking around to see them standing in a triangle shape around him. ‘And only three of you. How disappointing. I was hoping for more.’   
  
His wand made three consecutive jabs, and the green jets burst away to their respective targets. But a silvery shield flew around the Headmaster and the Killing Curse bounced off, obliterating the mirror and wall behind it. The other Avada got dissipated by Ljudmila Volkova with a wave of her wand, illuminating the entire area in a harmless green fluorescent light. And Li Mei simply sidestepped it calmly, causing the desk and enchanted window to blast to smithereens, giving everyone a splendid view of the outside garden.   
  
‘Not what you were expecting?’ Ljudmila mimicked sweetly. ‘You can’t kill us, since we never thought Hermione would have to travel through it. We knew you’d take her place.’  
  
The bedroom door opened. In fury, Lord Voldemort jabbed his wand at it. Draco’s eyes flew open wide as the Killing Curse hurtled to him. Inches away from his frozen-to-the-ground body, it halted in mid-air. Swiftly, Lord Voldemort swatted Dumbledore’s Avada away from his body.   
  
‘Not fast enough, old man,’ he taunted; while he hauled his at Draco’s aimed Avada back as if he were on a fishing expedition. Only the fish re-entered the fishing-pole as if it had never existed.  
  
Draco’s jaw dropped. He’d been trying to undo a spell of his casting for ages now. The only thing he had achieved was a thoroughly melted vase. And all this time, the only man who knew how to do it had been living in his bloody house! He gritted his teeth. But how was he going to get the Dark Lord to...?   
  
 _Aunt Bella!_  
  
‘Draco?’  
  
 _He’d ask aunt Bella for help this evening. Ha! Granger wouldn’t know what hit her when he beat her._  
  
‘Draco?’ Dumbledore repeated more forcefully, causing the blond to finally pay attention. ‘Didn’t Gellert tell you to stay downstairs?’  
  
 _Gellert? As in Grindelwald? Just his luck; of course, he had to be around here somewhere, too. The man was always hitting on him. Ugh._  
  
‘No,’ Draco replied shortly. ‘I haven’t seen him.’  
  
Dumbledore looked positively alarmed. ‘Thank you, Draco, you’re excused.’  
  
Draco stood in the doorway for another second, baffled. But then, he regained his senses and got the hell out of there, considering the company in that room. Though, he was mumbling resentful about whose house it was on his way down the stairs.  
  
‘I thought Gellert said he left to tell Draco to stay below?’ Ljudmila spoke to Albus, confused.  
  
‘He did,’ Dumbledore said thoughtfully. ‘Hell no!’   
  
Quickly, he swirled around and flipped his wand at the dead body underneath the sheet. Nothing happened. He paced to it, lifted the sheet and checked Severus’s front pocket and the floor around him. Sighing, he looked up. ‘Gellert has nicked his wand. He’s armed again.’  
  
‘How?’  
  
‘Must have been some time after Severus died; he was seated next to him on the ground,’ Albus said, annoyed.   
  
‘But there is no point to it,’ Li Mei said, flabbergasted. ‘Nicking a wand from a dead body won’t do it. He might as well snap a twig from a tree for all the good it will do him. The enchantments of Nurmengard only allow for a wand to work if it is handed voluntarily to a prisoner.’   
  
Lord Voldemort folded his arms over each other, a blank expression on his face.   
  
‘Gellert is an expert in wandlore; he would know this,’ Albus muttered. ‘Ljudmila?’ Albus turned to the person with the most knowledge of wandlore in the room.   
  
She shrugged. ‘Theoretically, Mei is right. The core of the wand won’t amplify his magic at all, unless…’ she paused, ‘they were somehow related?’  
  
‘No,’ Albus said. ‘The Princes and Grindelwalds’ bloodlines do not coincide anywhere.’  
  
‘Gellert’s mother’s side?’  
  
Albus considered it, but quickly shook his head. ‘No, the Princes never left England and Brunhilde’s ancestors are all from continental Europe.’  
  
‘Hmmm,’ Ljudmila contemplated. ‘The only other thing I can think of that may cause that wand to work for him is if the core and wood used are quite similar to his original wand.’  
  
‘Severus’s consisted of a doe’s tail hair and Gellert’s had the blood of a Chimera inside. It’s not even close,’ Albus replied.  
  
‘Then, it is useless to him,’ Ljudmila said, slightly relieved.  
  
Lord Voldemort snorted. ‘Sure, he went to all the trouble just to hang it on his wall,’ he mocked.   
  
Albus stared at him. ‘You’re right. There must be a method for him to get that wand operational or he wouldn’t have taken it.’  
  
‘And the three of you just let him walk out the door with it,’ Voldemort sneered. ‘I’d applaud his ingenuity if I valued the competition he had. But Gellert’s actions are irrelevant. Let’s focus back on the issue I came for, since it seems we’ve reached a stalemate,’ Lord Voldemort continued quietly. ‘Apparently, Article Two is still very much active for all of us.’ The annoyance he felt seeped through his words.  _It would have been so delightful to get rid of these three light morons._  
  
‘We are not here to kill you,’ Ljudmila said, stepping toward him. ‘But you are, however, reminded that an apprenticeship is NOT an imprisonment.’  
  
He smirked at her. ‘Pray tell, where in the rules does it say it isn’t?’   
  
‘Where it says that the choice of path is up to the apprentice. By keeping Hermione away from her normal environment, you are taking the choice away from her; I will not stand for it. The next doorway I open will be aimed at you if you do not release her,’ Volkova threatened.   
  
‘I see,’ Voldemort replied slowly, taking a step toward her. ‘Are you going to target Nathaira next? Because I don’t see Lovegood going anywhere, too.’  
  
‘Luna can leave if she wants to,’ Li Mei interfered. ‘Actually, I think it would have Sharasvati’s preference if she did. From what I hear, Luna is driving her crazy.’  
  
The corner of his mouth curled up. It was similar to his intelligence on the situation in India. For a brief second, Lord Voldemort and Li Mei shared a glance of amusement. But everything turned back to normal quickly when Albus spoke up. ‘Luna’s situation is not in question. Hermione’s is.’  
  
Voldemort turned his head to the man condescendingly.   
  
‘I think Lovegood’s situation is a good example to illustrate my choice to keep Hermione with me. Nathaira is sailing traitorous waters, facing elimination, because Lovegood is not accepting any guidance. If I’d let Hermione come and go at her leisure before she was adequately capable of Occlumency, her mind would not have been able to keep any and all details of my organisation from you or anyone else capable of some Legilimency in your Fowl Run. It would have been the end of her candidacy as Keeper, which could be considered negligence on my part, and as such, I would be in the same situation as Nathaira. Coincidence? I think not,’ he snarled, glancing from Albus to Mei in clear suspicion, before he turned back to Ljudmila, who had raised her eyebrows at this.   
  
Knowing Ljudmila Volkova’s first priority was the stability and continuation of the Council, he further explained things primarily for her ears.   
  
‘As you know Occlumency is not easily taught, but Hermione passed my test and would have been on her way to the Weasleys, once I had taken the necessary precautions, had I not been interrupted by two idiots apparating in uninvited. I’d also liked to remember everyone in this room that once Hogwarts next school year starts, Hermione will be at a significant disadvantage with respect to the other candidates, since I can’t come and go there if required. I, therefore, have to put a lot more speed and time into her training during this holiday, which would not be necessary had I had full access to her the entire year. And I would sincerely appreciate it if her apprenticeship was no longer used as a weapon against me, or I will retaliate accordingly – all, of course, in order to preserve the fabulous functioning of the Council.’ The latter came out quite sarcastic.   
  
‘That is your prerogative,’ Volkova replied, unfazed.   
  
‘As it is mine if Draco is used in a similar matter,’ Albus added swiftly.  
  
The temperature in the room seemed to drop significantly.   
  
‘Since we clearly understand each other, I suggest you, kindly, remove yourself from this place or  _I_  will have to make an uninvited visit to a red-haired overcrowded shack,’ Voldemort sneered. He turned away. ‘And do take your garbage with you,’ he gestured to Severus. ‘Narcissa won’t appreciate it if his grease leaks through the ceiling and ruins her mansion irreparably.’   
  
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Ljudmila said after the Dark Lord had left.   
  
‘Which part?’ asked Mei.  
  
‘Not Mudblood or Granger, but Hermione,’ she replied, glancing with a small smile to Dumbledore. ‘He called her Hermione in front of us.’  
  
‘I noticed,’ Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes. ‘It must have slipped out on his end.’  
  
Volkova chuckled. ‘Seems things are not going as bad as you thought they were, Albus.’  
  
‘Not if you take the job I offered you,’ Albus retorted immediately.   
  
Li Mei glanced at the dead body underneath the sheet. ‘Some offer.’  
  
‘Well, I do love a challenge and I never held a cursed position before,’ Volkova said, rubbing her hands cheerfully.  
  
‘Ljudmila, you can’t possibly consider this at your age,’ said Li, shocked.  
  
‘Are you saying two-hundred-and-sixty-one is too old to teach, Mei?’   
  
‘I am talking about the curse,’ Mei hissed. ‘We’re already down one light Keeper. We don’t need to lose another.’  
  
‘Gah,’ Ljudmila gave her a disparaging wave. ‘I am too old to worry about how I am going to die. According to statistics, I should have keeled over decades ago. Besides, Albus is right. All three remaining candidates attend Hogwarts, some additional Keeper supervision and security there won’t be a luxury.’  
  
‘So you’ll do it?’ Albus asked hopefully.  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
\---  
  
Gleefully, Gellert stroked the wand in his hand. ‘Now, you and me need to have a little chat,’ he spoke ever so quietly. ‘Your true master is dead and you would be buried alive along with him had I not rescued you from such dreaded fate. Your refusal to work for me is simply unacceptable and quite frankly rather ungrateful. I know this is a rocky start and we have ample time to get acquainted before Albus figures out I took you; but I am sure once you get to know me, we will get along wonderfully.’   
  
He twirled around in his cell, showing the view through the barred windows at the wand. ‘This, my dearest, is Nurmengard – the greatest prison of all, if I say so myself. No dementors, dragons, or other silly creatures needed to keep the prisoners in; it’s all done magically. My magic to be exact.’ He laughed. ‘You see I constructed this prison a long, long time ago. Did a fine job at it too. Nobody has ever escaped here.’  
  
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ he clicked his tongue. ‘There is no need to question my statements.’ He shook his head at the wand. ‘I was not responsible for the additional measly protections they placed on the centre tower to keep me in. Between you and me, it’s even more pathetic than Azkaban’s enchantments. But we won’t tell the British that, they are cocky enough as it is.’  
  
He looked outside contemplatively. ‘It’s almost a shame,’ he muttered, taking in the view one last time, while he pushed the wand into a small opening in the mortar between the bricks. ‘But I suppose it is all “For The Greater Good”,’ he quoted the sign above the prison’s entrance, smirking.   
  
He closed his eyes and focused on the wand in his left hand, placing his right against the stone wall. ‘Complete the circle,’ he muttered to the magic inside the wall. ‘You are a part of me. Complete it. Make this wand mine.’   
  
 _Come on._    
  
After a long time, a spark ignited, travelling from wall to wand to hand and on. ‘YES!’ he shouted exhilarated, pulling out the wand and flourishing it above his head. ‘Annihilare Nurmengard!’ he cast. He spread his arms wide. ‘Come to papa!’   
  
Fiery sparks erupted all over the buildings of the prison. Soon, the walls almost appeared on fire as magic swirled through the air, circling the centre tower as it waited in line to be accepted back to its origin via the wand that brandished around above Gellert Grindelwald’s head. The wand became more his as every bit of his magic ran through it to return to him, while his prison slowly disintegrated. Guards yelled warnings to each other and ran for it; they disapparated wherever there was an option available. Every magical lock lost its properties. Prisoners cheered and broke free. Chaos was everywhere. The outer walls of the top of the centre tower crumbled due to the force exhibited to it. And Grindelwald became very visible to everyone, standing there in the middle of all the destruction.  
  
Guards on brooms were airborne, on their way to attack his position. He changed the angle of his wand-movements and his magic formed a dome around him, impenetrable. He could feel the insignificance of their casting against it and laughed wildly.   
  
‘Kill him!’ the order boomed through the air.   
  
 _Crap!_  
  
He disapparated and apparated several floors lower to continue his magic’s recovery. The building came down on top of him as the Killing Curses broke through his magic and impacted on the walls. But he merely levitated the individual bricks and sent them after his attackers. They had to fly like professionals, and it was better to witness than any Quidditch match he had ever seen – more Bludgers. He roared with delight, and finally, he could sense it coming. The end. He gave that final bit of his magic one last assignment; ‘Flagrate!’ he cast and disapparated.  
  
Everyone within radius felt the earth shaking and the air thundering when Nurmengard prison tumbled down into ruins. Above the smoked rubble, a fiery message lit up the sky.   
  
 _Round Three, Albus!_  
  
\---  
  
‘I am not doing it,’ Ron said, determined, tossing a stone in the pond, which made several of the frogs honk in annoyance. ‘I don’t care if mum’s having a fit.’  
  
Harry and Ginny shared a look. It was quite telling what they thought of Ron’s chances. The three of them were in the Burrow’s garden, sitting at the tables they had just set for lunch, as Mrs Weasley had asked them to.   
  
‘I am not,’ Ron repeated, glaring at them both. ‘So, my hair is a bit longer. It’s not like Bill’s is- Hermione!’ he shouted, excited, jumping to his feet, waving his hand in the air abundantly.   
  
Harry and Ginny turned their heads immediately, and sure enough, behind the overgrown hedges, struggling to get through the orchard with her trunk, the bushy-haired witch waved back in the distance, smiling broadly. Underneath her shirt, the pendant on her necklace had turned onyx-like black.  
  
-


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my new partner in crime, Serpent In Red.

  
**Chapter Twenty-Two**  
  
It felt surreal to her; surreal and illusory to be walking here, in the Weasleys’ garden, towards her friends, when mere moments ago Lord Voldemort himself had dropped her off just outside the Order Wards. So much had happened during these last couple of weeks. Hermione knew she should be happy to be back. She had expected herself to be happy to be back. She tried desperately to be happy to be back, because she wanted so much to be happy to be back. But mostly she felt out of place – like she no longer belonged here, an outsider looking in. Her chest hosted a strange uncomfortable void where normally her emotions lie. So, she put up a brave, smiling front and waved to Harry, Ron and Ginny.   
  
But she quickly stopped waving when her levitated trunk demanded all her attention by crashing down in the overgrown orchard. It was a struggle to levitate her trunk due to the height and distance she had to keep it in the air and it didn’t help that she had a hard time finding a path to walk through without getting entangled, add upon that her lack of attention caused by the waving and it was all gravity needed to be victorious.   
  
‘You are not taking that bag with you,’ Hermione grumbled underneath her breath, remembering how Lord Voldemort had confiscated her beaded bag and pushed her Hogwarts’ trunk in her hands instead.   
  
Sure, her rational mind knew Kingsley, and especially, Tonks had had a good look at her bag, and that she really couldn’t take it with her to the Weasleys. But even when he made sense, he had this deliberate method of saying things in a certain tone and with an explicit demeanour that rubbed her hairs the wrong way and made her want to scream and lash out in frustrated rage. She whisked her wand at her trunk, but it only twitched between the green stuff it was stuck in. That did not do wonders for her temper or for her feelings towards a certain individual.  
  
‘Overbearing, controlling, obnoxious, irritating-’ Hermione mumbled the rest of her descriptive terms in quite an incomprehensible speech, while she glowered at her heavy trunk and its surroundings. ‘No, don’t take the light bag, carry the heavy trunk, which I filled with tons and tons of books; I want you to spend the whole two weeks in getting to the house, because the simple task of lawn mowing is too much work for a bunch of wizards.’   
  
She looked in the direction of the house and noted her friends were on their way to the hedge, but they had not reached the wildness of this field yet. She gave them a distracted wave and yanked her trunk forward.   
  
 _Too much physical exercise!_  
  
There had to be a better method. She sighed and remembered this one jinx she’d read in the first chapter of “Stretching Magical Boundaries, The Dark Arts”. The deadly jinx had disgusted her. However, right now, it would be perfect to finish the job; very illegal but perfect. Quickly, her eyes scanned the area. No adults in sight. And she would use it for a good cause after all. No harm, no foul. Surely, she could try it out?   
  
Her eyes found her friends; they wouldn’t know any better. Nobody would be the wiser. She tripped on a hidden branch and nearly fell flat on her face. It was the last straw, literally.  
  
‘WAIT!’ she shouted, holding up her hand to Harry, Ron and Ginny.   
  
They stopped moving, surprised.   
  
Hermione concentrated, focussing intensely on the exact whereabouts she wanted the dark jinx to do his work. ‘Secare Oscuro!’ she cast, jabbing her wand in an arc as if she wielded a scythe.   
  
A black jet sliced through the grass and everything else that grew there inches above the ground. As it passed, all that was green rotted, blackened, and turned to ashes before showering down on the perfectly mowed grass underneath. The spell ended right where she had wanted it to. Triumphantly, Hermione grabbed the handle of her trunk and began walking easily.   
  
‘Wow,’ Ron said, looking over the hedge amazed, while Harry wiggled through the narrow opening. ‘Dad’s never been able to trim it this neatly.’  
  
 _Perhaps if he wouldn’t wait for it to turn into a jungle first, he could._  
  
Crack!  
  
The apparation noise behind her made Hermione turn around and Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Professor Dumbledore stood there, wand drawn, in what seemed like full combat mode. Within a split-second, he had taken in the entire environment before resting his blue eyes on Hermione. She turned her head away and sighed.  
  
 _Apparently, someone was the wiser._  
  
‘Something wrong?’ asked Harry, whipping out his wand, while the others joined him.  
  
But Dumbledore pocketed his wand and shook his head in denial, causing everyone to ease up again.   
  
‘Professor, did you forget something?’ Hermione said quickly, willing him to understand that he had to be her source of transport over here.   
  
She needn’t worry. Albus Dumbledore never had been slow on the uptake. ‘No, the meeting I thought I had to attend has been postponed, so we can have that talk together now instead of tonight.’  
  
Hermione nodded as if she had any idea to what the hell he was referring to. She hoped it wasn’t about her use of the Dark Arts.   
  
‘Is the broom shed available to us?’ Dumbledore asked Ginny and Ron.   
  
The Weasleys looked confused, while Harry grinned and nodded Hermione in her side joyfully. He’d already had his conversation with Dumbledore there.   
  
‘I suppose,’ Ron said, clearly thinking Dumbledore had lost it.   
  
‘But there is no room and it’s a mess,’ Ginny objected.   
  
‘Not a problem,’ Dumbledore replied lightly, waving his wand through the air.   
  
It made Hermione aware of his rotted wandhand again; something she hadn’t had the time to ask him about before, because so many things had been happening simultaneously. But now she could.   
  
‘What happened to your hand, Professor?’   
  
Dumbledore saw four pair of eyes watching him curiously and he chuckled. ‘You lot never give up, do you? I will tell you, someday, but not now. It’s a long and exciting tale. I wish to do it justice and we do not have that kind of time right now,’ he said, eyeing each and every one of them in turn with kindness. ‘Ah, Molly!’ Dumbledore cheered. ‘Good to see you, too.’  
  
They all turned and saw Molly rushing toward them. ‘Albus, you finally brought her,’ she said, watching fondly in Hermione’s direction before reporting the latest news. ‘The Prophet stated the German Minister has resigned her position, so I thought you would still be there to talk to her successor.’  
  
‘No, I got back this morning. Figured I had enough time between meetings to bring Hermione over.’  
  
‘They still haven’t apprehended Grindelwald?’ asked Molly, concerned.  
  
‘I am afraid not. They have no idea where he is,’ Dumbledore said gravely. ‘And some of the other escaped prisoners are currently making a mess in France. Russia has closed their magical borders and the Italian Minister is refusing to speak with anyone. The entire continent is in uproar. I fear our problem here won’t be seen as much of a priority anymore.’  
  
It was silent for a moment after that. But then, Molly intervened, hugging Hermione to her chest. ‘Well at least you are here now,’ Molly said, as if that made everything alright again. ‘You’re just in time for lunch, dear. Are you staying too, Albus?’   
  
‘No, I can’t stay and I have to talk to Hermione in private first if that’s not too much of an inconvenience for you?’  
  
‘No, no,’ Molly replied, patting Hermione on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, dear, there is enough to go around and I’ll make sure they don’t eat up your share.’  
  
‘Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,’ Hermione said, while the others eyed her grinning, knowing Mrs. Weasley’s idea of a normal portion was usually a mountain of food.   
  
‘Would you please accompany me, Hermione?’ asked Dumbledore, and he held out his arm to the run-down stone outhouse off the garden. ‘Excuse us, Molly?’  
  
‘Naturally, Albus. Ron, take Hermione’s trunk to Ginny’s bedroom, please.’  
  
‘I’ll take care of it, Molly,’ Albus intervened, whipping his wand and banishing Hermione’s trunk out of everyone’s reach. ‘Miss Granger needs her school supplies for our meeting about her future.’  
  
Ron followed them with curious eyes, as Hermione and Dumbledore walked to the shed together. ‘Albus, you can use one of the bedrooms!’ Molly called out after them.   
  
‘This is fine!’ he replied casually.  
  
Molly shrugged and turned to the others. ‘Come on, you all, lunch is ready. And you definitely need some extra pounds on you,’ she added, eyeing Harry’s skinny figure disapprovingly.  
  
‘What do you think he wants to talk about with Hermione?’ Ron whispered to Harry, as they followed Mrs Weasley back to the tables where Fleur was busy putting the food on.  
  
Harry shrugged. ‘Ask her later.’  
  
‘Maybe it’s about her N.E.W.T. classes,’ Ginny suggested, her nose wrinkling in the direction of where Fleur stood.   
  
‘Then, why talk to her alone about it. It’s not a big secret she’s got all her O.W.L.s. And it is McGonagall’s job to do career advice.’  
  
‘I am just glad she’s finally here,’ Harry said, sounding relieved.   
  
‘Yeah,’ Ron replied slowly, but he couldn’t let it go. ‘He also spoke to you alone in that shed.’ It came out a bit accusatory and he couldn’t keep some of his envy from seeping through his voice.   
  
‘Fine,’ Ginny snapped. ‘Go over there and wait, maybe Dumbledore will talk to you alone among all the spiders too.’   
  
Ron turned pale and she laughed loudly.  
  
\---  
  
‘They did what!’ Scrimgeour shouted furiously, slamming his hands on his desk, his head red as if it was on the verge of exploding.  
  
The new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Gawain Robards, shuffled on his feet. It wasn’t his fault the French and the Germans had recalled every Auror back to their country after the fall of Nurmengard. He could even understand their reasoning. They had a huge clean up to do over there. All those dark wizards and witches on the run, not to mention they had not captured the main menace, Gellert Grindelwald. And when they did catch a fugitive, they had huge problems figuring out where to keep them since the largest prison was destroyed. He could see why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a hypothetical issue to them.  
  
‘I offered them Azkaban,’ Scrimgeour roared, tossing his hands in the air before he started pacing to and fro. ‘They filled every last empty cell we had over there, and now, they repay us like this! If it wasn’t for us, they’d still be speaking German over there!’   
  
Robards considered that the Germans probably still did, but eh, no need to point it out to a minister who was having a nervous breakdown.   
  
Scrimgeour halted in front of Robards and he waved his finger at him. ‘You tell Alain and Tabitha, I expect those Aurors to return immediately.’  
  
‘And what if they tell me they need the manpower themselves?’   
  
‘Well, well, that’s just unacceptable,’ huffed Rufus. ‘We had a deal.’  
  
‘Is there anything I can offer them in return?’ Robards tried.  
  
‘Offer them? Offer them! We already gave them everything! Tell them I’ll personally free their prisoners from Azkaban and deliver them on their families’ doorstep if they don’t send those Aurors back!’   
  
Robards scratched his neck, staring at the ugly carpet. He’d never noticed before the Minister’s Office had such a hideous floor-covering.   
  
‘Withdrawing their support, and of course, Dumbledore is continuously going over to support them. Yes, them he does help,’ Scrimgeour muttered resentfully, shaking his head, while he began pacing again. ‘Bloody foreigners. Traitors, they are all greedy traitors, who do nothing but take and take and take. And when it’s time to give, they run tail.’  
  
‘Eleanor can’t staff the roster for next week fully, Rufus. I need to know what you want to do about our personnel problems now,’ Robards interrupted matter-of-factly.  
  
Scrimgeour turned and faced him. For a moment, Robards wondered whether he was going to get an intelligent answer or be cursed from the room. Rufus took a deep breath and exhaled.   
  
‘So sorry, Gawain, none of this is your fault, I shouldn’t lay my frustration on your plate,’ he apologised. ‘How bad is the situation in the Auror Department?’  
  
‘We’ve lost twenty-eight percent of our active personnel with the loss of the French and German Aurors,’ Gawain replied.   
  
‘Twenty-eight percent!’ Rufus yelled, before calming himself down and working the problem.   
‘What if we call those in the last year of the Academy to active duty?’   
  
‘Rufus, really,’ Gawain replied doubtfully. ‘They have zero experience. The seasoned warriors I have left are already swamped, trying to support the recently graduated. I can’t put undergraduates on their desks as well. They’d do nothing but baby-sit, and it will get them all killed.’  
  
‘Desperate times call for desperate measures, Gawain.’  
  
‘I already checked the option, Rufus. Even if we pull every student out of the Academy right now, it will not be enough to fill the gap left behind by the real Aurors who left or died.’  
  
‘So, you’re saying we’re a sitting duck.’  
  
Gawain tilted his head. ‘That’s basically it. I need real Aurors, Rufus. I don’t care where you get them from, but I need them, fast, or we’ll be run over by  _him_  and his Death Eaters in a heartbeat.’  
  
Scrimgeour slumped down against his desk. ‘I don’t know where to get them from, Gawain. I really don’t know.’  
  
‘What about Canada and the States?’  
  
‘Also busy with Grindelwald and McFerlon, of course,’ Rufus grunted, annoyed.  
  
‘They still believe Mel caused that devastating earthquake?’  
  
Despite Rufus Scrimgeour’s loud, frustrated “yes”, Yaxley still heard the soft ringing. His alarm went off, which meant someone was on their way to the bathroom, too. In the distance, he heard the footsteps approaching in the corridor. Quickly, he removed his listening device from the ceiling and pocketed it. He flushed the loo and greeted his entering co-worker courteously, while he washed his hands. With a broad smile on his face, he went back to work. He’d heard enough. This was most fortunate news. The Dark Lord would be pleased, very pleased.  
  
\---  
  
Gellert moved his head from side to side, watching his profile at both angles in the huge mirror he had conjured. ‘Eww,’ he shivered, wrinkling his nose. ‘It seems we have our work cut out for us,’ he said affectionately to his new wand. ‘We need more light though. I can’t believe Nathaira likes living in this dump.’   
  
He glanced around the damp, empty cave and shook his head. With an elaborate flourish of his wand, a bright ball appeared at the top of the cave. A sideway flip and the ball began burning like a second sun, heating and lighting the area. Gellert looked back in the mirror and rolled the wand between his hands. ‘Natural light is always best to examine oneself in,’ he continued out loud. ‘Now, let’s fix this hideous disaster.’   
  
A considerable amount of time passed.  
  
Hours and hours later, Gellert twirled in front of the mirror, making very appreciative noises at his reflection. His new full set of white teeth gave of a charming smile; his hair was cut at shoulder length and cascaded down in lovely curls. He’d fixed the sunken impression his grey-blue eyes had got, and his overall physic had gained a newfound vitality, which was enhanced by the deep blue, silk dressrobes that whirled flattering around him as he made another twirl in front of the mirror.   
  
He wore them open to show off his lean body in the skintight, white Kashmir poloneck and the black leather pants, which seemed moulded around him. A pair of deep blue, high-heeled, knee-high, dragonskin boots graced his feet, matching the colour of his robes precisely. The long silver chain around his neck carried a sapphire medallion with the sign of the Deathly Hallows engraved in the priceless stone. Gellert felt it completed his stylish outfit to perfection.   
  
But his hair colour? His hand rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully. Grey was so boring and common. He flicked his wand and wrinkled his nose. Red did not suit him at all. He tried all kind of colours.   
  
‘Oh my,’ said Sharasvati Nathaira impressed, as she walked in.   
  
‘Do you like it?’ asked Gellert. He turned to her and flicked imaginary specks of lint of the shoulders of his dressrobes before twirling around and making a little bow at the end of it.  
  
‘Very spiffy,’ she answered. ‘Though that colour hair is…’ she gestured with her hand in the air, searching for the right word, ‘not you,’ she settled for.  
  
Gellert turned back to the mirror and watched his dark-brown curls, nodding. ‘Back to blond, I suppose.’ He swished his wand and the colour from his youth returned.   
  
‘Much better,’ Sharasvati commented, shrugging out of her outer robe and sending it to the wardrobe hidden behind the solid rock of the wall with an absentminded flick of her wand. ‘Why are you here, Gellert?’  
  
‘Perhaps those wrinkles need doing?’ Gellert trailed off, watching his face doubtfully, while trying to flatten his skin with his hand. He ignored her question completely, hoping it would go away.  
  
‘Nah,’ Sharasvati replied, waving dismissively with her hand, while she slouched into her couch. ‘Those spells always give off a mask-like expression. I’ve yet to see someone who looks naturally after they had that done.’   
  
‘Good point. Besides, I am dazzling enough as it is,’ Gellert replied smugly, sending his brand-new reflection a hand kiss.   
  
Nathaira rolled her eyes. ‘As long as you don’t sparkle.’   
  
‘Sparkle?’  
  
‘Never mind,’ she dismissed. Her wand flashed, sending a beam of ice to the warm ball of sunlight that heated the area. Instantly, the cold returned and the light dimmed. A second whip and his full length mirror disintegrated violently.   
  
‘Aww…’ Gellert let out, holding both hands to his chest as if it cost him dearly to see it destroyed.   
  
‘Now that you’re done with your extreme makeover, kindly be on your way again,’ Sharasvati ordered, gesturing to the cave’s door. ‘You’re obviously under the mistaken impression you are welcome to hide out here.’  
  
‘Oh, come on, Nathaira, darling, surely you can find accommodations for one lonely wizard for a little while in this enormous place?’ Gellert suggested, holding his arms wide to show off the spaciousness of the cave.  
  
‘The amount of chambers I got is irrelevant,’ she replied coldly. ‘What is relevant is your current “hot” status. Your face is on the front page of every bleeding newspaper on the planet. The bounties that several governments have offered for you are ridiculously large. I don’t want every Auror, Unspeakable, or fortune-seeker on the planet to knock on my door in order to apprehend you. I like my solitude.’  
  
‘Ah, yes, your solitude,’ Gellert said, strolling to the opposite couch with a thoughtful expression. ‘But how much longer are you going to enjoy your solitude if Lovegood keeps denying your guidance?’ He sat down, crossing his legs and spreading his arms out wide over the backrest. ‘How long till Li Mei asks the Council for your head?’ He sent her a questioning smile. ‘Riddle hasn’t come through for you yet, has he?”  
  
Nathaira folded her arms over each other and narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you offering?’ she responded suspiciously.  
  
‘How long can I stay?’  
  
‘Depends on what you’ve got for me.’  
  
‘Riddle’s alterations to the Nightmare Curse,’ Gellert replied crafty.   
  
‘You know what they are?’ Nathaira replied disbelievingly.  
  
‘No, but I know how you can persuade him to hand them over without any cost to you.’  
  
Nathaira’s mouth curled up. ‘One week.’  
  
‘One month.’  
  
‘Not a chance.’  
  
‘Fine,’ Gellert said, rising from the couch. ‘I look forward to attend your funeral.’ He walked away.  
  
‘Wait!’  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks and turned. Nathaira rose from the couch and stalked to him. ‘One month if I think your idea is viable,’ she held out her hand.  
  
Gellert laughed. ‘Please, Sharasvati, don’t insult my intelligence with word tricks. You can easily say you don’t think it is viable and use my suggestion later anyway. One month if my idea gets you the curse.’  
  
‘One month if your idea gets me the alterations to the curse and if you stay out of sight.’  
  
‘Deal.’  
  
‘Deal.’  
  
Magic swirled around their clasped hands, sealing the deal. ‘Now this is what you need to do,’ Gellert started mischievously.   
  
\---


	23. Chapter 23

**  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three**  
  
Hermione checked out the new environment with interest. She’d seen the inside of the Weasley broom shed before, but Professor Dumbledore had clearly done some casting prior to their entering. Previously, it had been a crammed space filled with rusty gardening tools, old racing brooms, numerous muggle knickknacks, and loads and loads of spiders. All those things were still there, positioned along the walls of the shed; but the shed had turned into a Tardis – much more spacious on the inside than the exterior would make you expect it to be.   
  
A whole circular area of free space had been created. In the centre of this clutter-free environment, there were two chairs and a little table in between, which her trunk lay on. Automatically, Hermione walked toward it, while her eyes roamed around. She took notice of the telltale signs of wards being set and frowned, worried.   
  
Turning around, she asked, ‘Why such heavy warding?’  
  
Professor Dumbledore closed the door with a flick of his wand. ‘Muffliato!’ he cast out loud, before replying, ‘For everyone’s safety.’  
  
‘Oh,’ she responded softly, looking at the wooden floor, wondering if the boards would be rotten and crack upon their combined weight. They didn’t seem very solid to her. The stupid song, she had deliberately stashed in her mind an hour before coming here, danced through her mind, while she wondered if he considered her a threat due to her little “lawn mowing” demonstration.  
  
‘Have a seat, Miss Granger.’ Dumbledore gestured to the chair nearest to her. ‘I need to check your luggage if that’s alright with you?’ he asked, while she sat down.  
  
‘And if it is not?’ she countered coldly.  
  
‘Then, we have a problem,’ Dumbledore replied seriously; blue eyes watched her expectantly over a pair of half-moon glasses.  
  
Hermione sighed and hauled up her shoulders, disengaging their eye-contact. ‘Fine, knock yourself out,’ she muttered, waving at her trunk dismissively.   
  
She was pretty sure Voldemort wasn’t that obvious. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over each other, while she watched Albus Dumbledore cast at her trunk and rummage through it magically. It was a familiar sight. Hermione hid her broad grin behind her hand, as she recalled how Lord Voldemort had done exactly the same thing to her beaded bag.   
  
‘No Tracking Charms, Portals, or other potential dangers to the Order,’ Dumbledore muttered.   
  
Hermione giggled.   
  
His eyebrows raised, he looked at her.   
  
‘Sorry,’ Hermione said, stifling her laughter. ‘Too much deja-vu.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Dumbledore replied understandingly, and his eyes twinkled. ‘I see.’   
  
He whipped his wand at the trunk again, and with a loud clatter, a pile of books tumbled out. The pile, Lord Voldemort had supplied her with. If the floor would crack and swallow her now, she wouldn’t mind.   
  
“Ancient Curses, A Comprehensive Study”, “Stretching Magical Boundaries, The Dark Arts”, “Exceptions to Transfiguration”, “Compendium to Medieval Sorcery”, “Isis, Her Life and Knowledge”, “The Unthinkable, Taboos and Prohibitions in Magic”, “The Dark Magic of Potions”, “Controlled Casting, Illusion or Reality?”, “Mind the Laws,  _or not!”_ , and last but not least “Magick Moste Evile” landed on the tabletop next to the trunk.   
  
Hermione’s cheeks turned bright red. _Crap. First, the illegal jinx and now those books, this was all going great, just great._  
  
But surely, he would know the books were not hers or scold her for having them? She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t confiscate them, because she had no idea how to explain to Lord Voldemort she no longer had his books.  
  
‘Hmm… This could become a problem if found by the wrong person. Several of these books are highly illegal to own,’ said Dumbledore, surprising her by the lack of any objections to the inherent dark volumes.   
  
He tapped the top of the pile. One by one, the book’s leaves turned and changed into Fifi Lafolle’s “Enchanted Encounters” series. Hermione leaned forward, interested. She picked up a book. The moment she had it in her hands the original title became visible and she flipped through the pages of “Ancient Curses, A Comprehensive Study.”   
  
‘Some sort of Glamour Charm?’  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. ‘It’s a mild adaptation of the Befuddlement Charm. Even when you read one, it will befuddle others into seeing nothing but a harmless romantic novel.’  
  
‘Mrs. Weasley is a fan of the “Enchanted Encounters” series,’ Hermione said doubtfully.  
  
‘If she picks up one of your books, she will read Fifi’s writings,’ Dumbledore said reassuringly. ‘Only you and I will be able to see through the charm. Oh, I forgot about Alastor. Make sure to keep these books away from Alastor Moody’s magical eye, too.’  
  
Hermione scratched her head and placed the book back on the pile, unsure her friends would believe these kinds of books were hers.  
  
‘It’s not perfect, but better than no protection at all,’ said Dumbledore, while the books flew back in her trunk and it slammed shut.   
  
‘I suppose,’ Hermione said with a hint of doubt.   
  
She had planned to hide them away and only read them when there was nobody around. Something she still considered the best protection. There was no way she’d take such a huge risk of them being discovered in her possession.  
  
‘Did Tom put anything on you that could be hazardous?’  
  
Hermione stilled in her chair. Her eyes averted; her mind automatically flew to the pendant, which hung around her neck. She’d wanted to give it back to Voldemort after they’d arrived at the outskirts of the Weasleys’ orchard, but he had blatantly forbidden her to take it off.  
  
 _‘I can’t walk around with your marked necklace in sight.’  
  
He’d smirked and tapped the green pendant with his wand, turning it into a seemingly innocent pitch-black onyx stone. ‘There, no mark in sight.’  
  
‘That’s not the point,’ she’d growled and grabbed the necklace and was about to haul it over her head, but he’d grabbed her wrist.   
  
‘No doubt you’re going to run around with silly boys at places you shouldn’t be and I can’t be everywhere at once all the time. This will protect you from harm should you run into my followers.’_  
  
‘Miss Granger?’  
  
With a half-smile, she looked up briefly. ‘I–I am sorry, but I did sign a magical confidentiality agreement.’   
  
‘You can talk freely here. The wards block everything, even magical vows. What you say will remain between the two of us.’  
  
Thàt removed the smile from her face. ‘How convenient,’ she replied slowly; her mind stirred into overdrive, putting the song at the back of her head.   
  
‘Did Tom do anything to you that could compromise the safety of the Order?’  
  
‘Is this why you made me his apprentice?’ asked Hermione sharply. ‘Because you had a method around the Keepers’ security measures?’   
  
‘He told you it was my choice to make?’   
  
‘He let it slip right before bringing me here,’ Hermione said with a deep sarcastic undertone, glaring at Dumbledore when he corroborated what Voldemort had told her.   
  
She’d hoped it had been a lie. She knew Lord Voldemort had deliberately chosen this exact moment to tell her in order to make her pissed at Dumbledore right before they would meet again, and despite her knowing about his machinations, it had been successful. Surely, Dumbledore could have prevented this. If only he would have told her when she had asked him for a change of guides, he wouldn’t have given Lord Voldemort the satisfaction of shaking her trust in her Headmaster even further.   
  
Dumbledore just stared at her. His silence was beyond irksome; it was infuriating.   
  
‘Aren’t you going to answer my question?’ she snapped.  
  
Dumbledore sighed and sat down in the opposite chair. Folding his hands in his lap, he started to explain. ‘I picked Tom, because he is without a doubt the best dark Keeper out there. I want you to succeed at this, Hermione. And I knew you’d be able to make him see beyond your blood and get him to really teach you. It’s obvious from the way you’re occluding me without having to concentrate on it that you’ve already learned a lot. Nice Beatles’ song by the way.’  
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. She checked his hands, but there was no wand in sight. Aghast, she said, ‘Nice song? Nice song! My dad used to drive me crazy with Obladi, Oblada. It’s why it sticks so easily in my mind. But what’s with the Legilimency? Don’t you even see how disrespectful it is to go through people’s minds without their permission?’   
  
‘I don’t do it on purpose.’  
  
‘Yeah, right, it’s accidental,’ she sneered.  _Life goes on, bra. Lalala, how life goes on._  
  
Dumbledore smiled sadly. ‘It’s actually more of a curse. Picking up random thoughts of others, people you care about or even strangers, it’s not…’ He sighed. ‘Well, it can be overwhelming, and sometimes, it can be too much information. You hear things you wished you never knew.’ He stared into thin air.  
  
Hermione frowned. She could understand that. She surely wouldn’t want to know what everyone was thinking all the time, but… ‘Why perform the spell if it bothers you to find out what people think?’   
  
‘I don’t perform the spell consciously. Stage One Legilimency comes to me without effort. For Stage Two and Three, I need to cast the spell with a wand, but Stage One just happens.’  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Always?’   
  
‘When people make eye-contact with me, yes,’ Dumbledore replied, nodding.   
  
‘Ugh.’  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. ‘Ugh, indeed.’   
  
However, this new bit of information on Stage One Legilimency made her quite uneasy. Voldemort had never mentioned that “it just happens”. Not that he hadn’t seen pretty much everything that was in her mind during their practise sessions anyway; but still, why had he kept this from her? So, he could peruse her mind at any time without her being suspicious about it?   
  
‘Professor?’ she started hesitantly, looking at the tabletop.   
  
Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, folding his fingers in front of him, waiting patiently for her to continue.  
  
‘Does,’ she halted, realising she couldn’t quite ask it this way. ‘Have you – er – when – no, that doesn’t work either,’ she muttered to herself. Suddenly, she knew it and her head snapped up joyfully. ‘Does Stage One just happen with every Master of Legilimency?’   
  
 _There, that was general enough to not inflict with her vow. And surely, Dumbledore would understand what she meant._  
  
‘Ah, ermm… well, there aren’t that many Masters around,’ Dumbledore replied thoughtfully, stroking his beard. ‘I know for a fact Volkova has the same problems, but Li and Grindelwald need to cast to perform Stage One with or without a wand. As for Nathaira and Voldemort, well, they haven’t kept me informed about their capabilities.’  
  
Hermione giggled. The visual of Voldemort informing Dumbledore about anything was quite amusing.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at her. ‘I can tell you that I wasn’t always capable of doing it continuously without effort. And I believe gaining the ability to do it like this comes with the combination of age, practise and will. Tom is about the same age now as when it first started happening to me.’   
  
 _Great, she was screwed._  
  
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it with your mind, Hermione. Your defence is quite adequate and if he didn’t prepare you for this attack, chances are he is unaware of the possibility. Besides, Li and Grindelwald are older than him and unable to do it, despite that their skill at Legilimency is quite equal to mine. Not everything is always cut and dry in magic. There’s a lot we don’t know. And I take back what I said before. You’re quite right – Desmond and Molly are incredibly irritating,’ he ended humorously.   
  
‘Sorry ’bout the song,’ she said with an apologetic smile, knowing how undoable it was to get “Obladi, Oblada” out of your mind.   
  
‘I’ll live. But Hermione, I really need to know if he did anything to you that could compromise the Order during your stay here.’  
  
Hermione buried her head in her hands. ‘Don’t you think it compromised the Order to make me his apprentice? I know an awful lot about Harry.’  
  
‘Did he find out anything?’ Dumbledore inquired again.  
  
‘I didn’t specify that. I said that I know a lot about certain things and that I couldn’t perform an ounce of Occlumency before the summer holiday started,’ Hermione replied cryptically.   
  
‘I wouldn’t worry about it. Most of it, he’d probably found out already.’   
  
Hermione shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’  _She wasn’t falling for that old trick._  
  
‘I will have to know if it’s safe if you stay here. If you’re not telling me, I have to find out otherwise.’  
  
 _Brilliant, just brilliant. From the snake’s pit to this spiders’ invested hole, threats seemed to be the latest fashion everywhere._  ‘I understand.’  
  
‘I am not sure you do. This could be dangerous to you,’ Dumbledore said seriously.   
  
 _You’d think?_  
  
‘I will find out anyway,’ he continued kindly. ‘And everything you say will remain between the two of us. So, why not tell me? Has he got into your head too much? Have your loyalties-’  
  
There it was. The dreaded question she feared would come up. And it was totally uncalled for, she had not betrayed anyone. Her guilt flared at remembering what she had done with the Dark Lord. But she replaced that guilt with anger to hide her true emotions. No way was she informing Albus Dumbledore she’d fucked Lord Voldemort.  
  
‘I am not supposed to tell you or anyone else anything,’ Hermione interrupted angrily. ‘You told me that yourself. An apprentice is supposed to keep the secrets of her guide. It’s what lies at the very foundation of the apprenticeship, the knowledge the guide has he or she won’t be compromised by the very presence of the other. It’s what keeps both apprentice and guide safe. Even if I wanted to tell you everything and could, which I don’t,’ she folded her arms defensively in annoyance, because in her mind there was only one person on this planet who she might break her vow for and Harry wasn’t sitting in the chair opposite of hers, ‘I still have to think of what it would mean to future candidates. If I blurt out what I know, no one will ever be safe. I can’t risk it.’  
  
‘Very well,’ Dumbledore said and rose from his chair. His wand was suddenly in his hand and he pointed it at her.   
  
Hermione bit her lip.  _Did she wear a bull’s eye these days or what? Scratch burning the Sorting Hat, she was going to rip it to pieces with her bare hands, stamp on it, and disintegrate every thread of the cloth one by one by one. Life goes on, bra._  
  
‘I’ll try a simple identification spell first; hopefully, it won’t give too much of a reaction on you.’  
  
 _Yeah, hopefully._  
  
Hermione turned her head away and braced for the impact. From the corner of her eye, she saw the jet of light speed towards her when the pendant turned hot against her chest. It rose out from under her shirt and burst into a green light around her. Dumbledore’s spell collided into the green bubble around her and it seemed to add energy to it, for it expanded rapidly and crashed into him with a vengeance. He flew through the air (a silvery shield in front of him) before he smashed hard into Arthur’s muggle stuff collection. She couldn’t withhold the brief upward curl of her lip as he crashed to the ground, while numerous items tumbled down on top of his head. _Poetic justice.  
  
Not much of a reaction, indeed. Well, not on her anyway._  
  
‘Well, that was not unexpected,’ Dumbledore’s muffled voice spoke ironically from underneath the giant muggle speaker that covered his head entirely.  
  
The pendant, slowly, ceased its green glow and she felt the temperature of the stone drop before it descended back against her chest. Frowning, she curled her fingers around the silver chain and raised it, examining the stone. It was emerald green again and the smoked outline of his mark bellowed in and out of focus violently. But the smoke turned darker and darker, spread outward, and obscured the skull and snake’s figure, until nothing remained but an onyx-looking pendant. She wondered how that worked.   
  
‘Would it do that every time someone casts in my direction, Professor?’ asked Hermione, worried. He’d seen it now, so she wasn’t revealing any secrets and she figured this violent reaction could become problematic for her to hide.   
  
Dumbledore had lifted the speaker of his head and scrambled to his feet. He readjusted his squashed hat back into shape, while walking to Hermione, who held out the chain to him, so he could see the pendant more closely.   
  
‘Interesting, very interesting. Maybe it will?’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘Or there could be a discriminating factor in it, which decides whether or not it activates.’   
  
He raised his wand at the pendant, which caused Hermione to quirk an eyebrow.  _Really, did he enjoy being tossed around?_  
  
Professor Dumbledore moved his wand around the pendant carefully. ‘This contains a lot of magic,’ he mumbled, a hint of disturbance in his voice. ‘A lot. Far too much to be a mere protective piece.’ He looked up, while lowering his wand. ‘Have you been hearing voices or felt the need to do things you otherwise wouldn’t?’   
  
‘I can’t tell you anything,’ Hermione said with an impatient growl.  _How many times did she have to say that?_  
  
‘My inquiry was not about Tom. It was about you,’ Dumbledore replied with a small smile.   
  
Hermione smirked. ‘Clever,’ she said.   
  
‘Thank you,’ Dumbledore said with a courteous head-bow. ‘So, have you?’  
  
‘Have I what?’  
  
‘Heard voices or done odd things?’  
  
Hermione made a face. ‘Ermm… no,’ she said.  
  
‘Didn’t find yourself in places you couldn’t remember how you got there or had other gaps in your memory?’  
  
‘Nope,’ she replied, frowning. That sounded mighty familiar, as in Ginny familiar. ‘It’s not a journal, Professor,’ she added, after a moment of silence between them.  
  
Dumbledore eyed her cautiously, while plucking his beard. Hermione stared right back, singing the song in her mind, waiting for his reply.   
  
‘In order for me to really understand what this is and does precisely, I will need to cast upon it again,’ he finally said, giving her a serious look, while ignoring her remark about the journal, which didn’t go unnoticed by Hermione.   
  
‘Okay,’ Hermione replied, shrugging.  _Your funeral._  
  
‘Can you take it off?’  
  
‘Sure.’   
  
The chain was still in her hand, and she tried to lift it over her head; but it slipped right through her fingers. She made another attempt to grab it; but this time, it didn’t allow her to take a hold of it. It was like she reached into nothingness, like it wasn’t even there. Alarmed, she looked down and tried again. It was a fine hologram. She could see the necklace, but to touch it was an impossible feat.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Dumbledore said, concerned. ‘Just hold it out then.’  
  
‘I can’t touch it anymore,’ Hermione said, looking up aggravated.  _Surely, he had seen that._  
  
‘Perhaps if you just hold it out, you can?’  
  
Hermione tried, and behold, the chain was in her hand. Quickly, she moved her hand up to give it another go, but the chain fell through her hand and landed against her chest.   
  
‘Obviously, it has an Anti-Removal Curse on it,’ said Dumbledore.  
  
‘Obviously,’ she growled.  _And He had the nerve to call her a control-freak? She’d obladi him next time they met._  
  
‘I’d rather not cast those spells while you are wearing it,’ Dumbledore said, turning away. ‘Some of them are quite powerful and if we don’t know what that is…’  
  
‘But you said you could only determine what it does by casting on it,’ Hermione squeaked panicky. The fact that she was unable to take it off had severely diminished her cool. What could possibly be so important about the necklace to him to make sure she had to keep wearing it?   
  
Nothing good, she decided.  
  
‘I am not risking your health,’ Dumbledore replied with his back turned to her. ‘We just have to make up some excuse as to why you can’t stay here.’  
  
‘No, I want to stay. Just do whatever it is you need to do,’ she said hastily. She’d only seen Harry and the others briefly and she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving so soon.   
  
‘Hermione,’ Dumbledore said sadly, turning back to face her. ‘The spells I need to use could kill you if that pendant is what I fear it is.’  
  
‘But he can’t kill me,’ Hermione replied, frowning.  
  
‘He won’t do the casting. I will be the one to kill you, which gives him the option of killing me. It’s quite ingenious of him actually,’ Dumbledore shook his head. ‘I may be an old man, but you have your whole life ahead of you.’  
  
‘Those spells are not lethal on their own merits, are they?’ Hermione asked crafty.   
  
‘No,’ he answered, watching Hermione with interest.  
  
‘So, basically, if I die when you cast them, it will be his necklace causing my death, which would mean you could kill him,’ she ended, smirking.   
  
‘Technically, one could see it that way,’ he replied doubtfully. ‘But it’s a huge gamble to take with your life, Hermione.’  
  
‘Well, it’s mine to take, isn’t it?’ Hermione said, gritting her teeth. ‘I can’t keep walking around with this near Harry if we don’t know what it does.’  
  
‘Very well,’ Dumbledore said, raising his wand.   
  
 _Merlin, what was wrong with her?_  
  
He took a cautious stance.   
  
 _Sure, Granger, lets give everyone and their pets the okay to cast you into oblivion._  
  
A white light burst from his wand and formed a bright sphere, hovering in the air. With one last, concerned look at Hermione, he waved it toward her. Immediately, the pendant turned hot against her skin again and flew up, bursting out green smoke as Dumbledore’s charm tried to envelop it. Hermione didn’t know where to look first. It was quite the show. The pendant tried desperately to avoid being surrounded by Dumbledore’s bright sphere and danced rather comically around her neck, and her Headmaster had a hard time avoiding the much more volatile defensive reaction the pendant had sent back and he swirled around the shed equally fast as the pendant did on its chain.   
  
The only one getting no exercise at all was Hermione.   
  
The green smoke bounced off the shed’s walls with amazing speed. His wand flashed bright, diverting the smoke’s path away from him. But it was just a brief reprieve, because it kept coming and coming. A complicated swirl of the Elder Wand dispersed the smoke, and for a second, Hermione thought Dumbledore had won, but then, it merged back together and hurtled back to him. The sheer concentration on her Headmaster’s face worried Hermione sincerely.   
  
But Keepers couldn’t kill each other, she reassured herself.   
  
Then, her eyes got blinded by the white sphere that chased the pendant. She heard a sickening slashing sound and a pain-filled cry, followed by a splash of warm fluid against her face and body. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out it was blood.  
  
‘Professor!’ Hermione yelled fearfully, batting at the sphere like you would a bothersome fly, because she needed to see what happened.   
  
However, the pendant had moved to her back, so the sphere followed suit and she gasped, seeing Albus Dumbledore on his knees, pointing his wand at the green cloud which charged him again, while his other arm pulsed out blood so fast, she was sure a major artery was hit. She took a step in his direction to help.  
  
‘Stay there!’ Dumbledore ordered.  
  
Hermione froze.   
  
A low hum came from his wand and darkness erupted from it. Rapidly, it charged Voldemort’s green cloud and smashed into it, dead centre. She was reminded of her previous thoughts of a spiders’ invested hole, because Dumbledore’s curse acted like a web. She saw dark tendrils spreading outward, grabbing on to the cloud and holding it together – the smoke caught like a fly would have been. The web hovered there, halting the forward motion of the cloud, and then, it imploded, leaving strands of darkness floating almost serenely to the floor, harmless.   
  
 _Had Albus Dumbledore – champion of the light side – just used the Dark Arts in front of her?_  
  
The very moment the green cloud disappeared, the pendant seemed to be under the illusion it was safe and stopped moving. Hermione averted her eyes, as the white sphere surrounded the emerald and glowed even harder. ‘Professor!’  
  
‘It’s all right, Hermione. I am right here.’ Dumbledore’s voice came from behind the white light. ‘You’re going to be fine. It is not what I feared it could be.’  
  
‘Your arm?’  
  
‘Already healed it.’  
  
In her peripheral vision, Hermione saw his wand moving around the sphere. ‘What is it, then?’  
  
‘Hmmm… oh my.’  
  
‘Oh my what?’ she squeaked.  
  
‘Very unexpected. Didn’t see this coming,’ Dumbledore mumbled.   
  
‘See what coming?’  
  
‘Just a moment, Hermione,’ he whirled his wand around the sphere and it turned bright orange.   
  
‘I see,’ Dumbledore said softly.   
  
He tapped the sphere and it vanished. A second whip of Dumbledore’s wand caused his blood on her face and clothes to disappear. Hermione noted the necklace did not react to this. Apparently, it discriminated between spells. The pendant crashed against her shirt, and slowly, turned black again. Hermione waited expectantly, while Dumbledore looked down, seemingly watching his fingertips tap against each other.   
  
And when nothing was said, she waited some more and more, until she couldn’t take it anymore.   
  
‘And?’ she inquired, tapping her foot.  
  
‘You can stay at the Weasleys. It won’t harm the Order,’ Dumbledore said quietly, and he turned away from her abruptly. She had not got a chance to get a glimpse of his expression.  
  
‘Then, who will it harm?’ she retorted quickly.   
  
‘Whoever tries to attack you,’ Dumbledore replied after a moment of silence, his back still turned.   
  
 _Yeah, right, sure, that was everything. She felt so safe now._  ‘You said, you hadn’t seen something coming,’ Hermione tried.  
  
Slowly, her Headmaster turned around. His face was completely devoid of any emotion and his usual twinkle absent. She couldn’t get a single clue from his expression. He looked at her over his half-moon glasses and asked her, ‘Is there something you wish to share with me, Hermione?’  
  
‘I want to know what this thing does,’ she replied, exasperated.   
  
‘It’s a protective device,’ he repeated, sitting down calmly.  
  
Hermione growled. ‘You said there was too much magic for that.’  
  
‘It is,’ Dumbledore said, rubbing his blackened wandhand. ‘But Tom has always been thorough.’  
  
‘There is something you’re not telling me.’  
  
‘Like there are things you are not telling me,’ Dumbledore retorted with a small smile.   
  
‘I can’t,’ she growled, throwing her hands in the air.  
  
‘Won’t,’ he corrected.  
  
‘Won’t,’ she admitted.  
  
‘I can’t tell you either,’ he replied.  
  
‘Won’t,’ Hermione blurted out.   
  
Dumbledore grinned and tilted his head courteously. ‘Indeed, we find ourselves at a rather nasty conundrum due to Keeper regulations. If I tell you what I know, it will be grounds for your expulsion as a candidate. The pendant’s powers are for you to decipher by yourself. It was very clever of him to add that one characteristic. I am sorry, Hermione.’  
  
She plumped down in her chair, disappointed at not getting any answers and somewhat apprehensive about the thing around her neck. Well, at least it wouldn’t hurt Harry, she learned that much.   
  
‘Now that we’ve established it’s safe for you to wander around here, I’d like to know the full extend of your Occlumency skills,’ Dumbledore continued casually. ‘Clearly, you’re doing fine with Stage One. What about the other stages?’  
  
Hermione shrugged, not knowing how to respond to that question. ‘Okay, I suppose,’ she mumbled; her mind going over the pitfalls this conversation could lead her to.  
  
‘Can you block a Stage Two attack fully?’  
  
‘I can’t answer that.’  _Gee, would he keep trying to get her to break her agreement?_  
  
‘I ask what you can do, not what Tom can.’  
  
‘But since he’s the one who taught me, it stands to reason if I tell you I can or can’t block an attack, it would mean he can’t or can enter my mind,’ Hermione replied tiresomely. ‘Whatever which way I look at it, I will still give you information about my guide I am not supposed to give.’  
  
She looked at her hands, so she didn’t see the brief impressed expression on Dumbledore’s face.   
  
‘Very well. Lets make it a theoretical discussion then,’ he continued cheerfully. ‘We can do that, can’t we?’  
  
‘I suppose,’ Hermione said suspiciously, making Dumbledore laugh.  
  
‘What are the defences against Stage Two and Three Legilimency?’   
  
Hermione weighed the question, but decided she could answer it. When she was done naming them all, Dumbledore had a huge smile on his face. ‘Very good, I won’t need to test your capabilities in them. I am sure you wouldn’t be here if Tom thought there was even a slight chance of me breaking through your walls,’ he chuckled again.   
  
 _Not a chance in hell,_  Hermione thought, thinking back at Voldemort’s practically obsessive teachings on the subject, smiling.   
  
‘However, my inability to get inside your mind tells me nothing about Tom’s. He taught you Occlumency. Hence, he’s much better aware of where your boundaries lie. He most likely will be able to breakthrough your defences with a Stage Three Strike, which is a problem for the Order, so that puts me in a bit of a dilemma. I am sure you understand.’   
  
She understood perfectly, but eh, it wasn’t like she had picked him or hadn’t requested another guide.   
  
‘So,’ Dumbledore said, pausing briefly, ‘we will just have to make sure he won’t dare to invade your mind ever again.’  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows.  _Make sure he won’t dare? This was Lord Voldemort they were talking about, wasn’t it? Not Malfoy? Or Desmond who takes a trolley to the jeweller’s stores._  
  
Dumbledore chuckled at her expression. ‘Do you know what the greatest risk is of performing Legilimency?’  
  
‘Hearing something you don’t like?’ she guessed jokingly. She hadn’t come across any real risks in any of the textbooks.   
  
He shook his head.  
  
‘Getting a headache? Being hexed by your opponent? Being bored to death by unoriginal thoughts?’ she speculated loosely.  
  
Dumbledore roared with laughter. ‘No, but those can be a nuisance. No, the greatest risk for a Master of Legilimency is coming up against someone who has the ability to compartmentalise her mind, someone like you,’ and he stared at Hermione with proud, twinkling eyes.   
  
Stunned, Hermione stared back at him. ‘Why is that?’ she finally asked quietly.   
  
‘Because unlike anyone else, you can turn Occlumency into a weapon,’ Dumbledore answered. ‘Normal Masters of Occlumency are capable to keep us out, to not make us suspect or be able to contradict they are lying, but they can’t harm us with their mental defence. Someone with the capability to compartmentalise can lure a Master of Legilimency into their mind, and then, shut the exit once they’re in deep enough, making sure said Master is stuck inside their mind indefinitely.’  
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. ‘But-but…’ she halted, not sure what to make of this bit of information and what to ask first. ‘Does that mean I can trap someone inside my mind if they perform Legilimency on me?’  
  
‘After sufficient practise, yes,’ Dumbledore said simply.   
  
‘And would that stop the attack?’  
  
‘If performed correctly, it would stop everything for the attacker. He’d be completely incapacitated.’  
  
‘Completely?’ Hermione repeated disbelievingly.  
  
‘It takes a lot of mental power to perform higher forms of Legilimency. You need to concentrate for it, set your whole mind to the task. You can’t do anything else beside it. It’s not something you can do multitasking. If you succeed at trapping Tom inside your mind when he’s performing Stage Three Legilimency, he’s completely helpless for however long you’re able to keep him there. He won’t be able to move a muscle, call for help, cast another spell, perform wandless magic, or whatever.’  
  
‘There’s got to be a catch,’ Hermione muttered.  _This sounded too good to be true._  
  
‘There is,’ Dumbledore replied seriously. ‘It’s all fun and games if someone is unaware of what you are doing. Then, it won’t cost you a single drop of sweat. However, I doubt Tom will remain unaware of what’s happening. He’s too good a wizard to miss something this big. And it’s not easy to keep someone in once they notice what you’re doing. It will become a mental battle inside your head and that can become quite painful if your attacker is a powerful sorcerer. He will try to mentally breach the walls you’ve erected around him, while you have to concentrate on keeping them whole. That fight won’t be pleasant for you, Hermione,’ Dumbledore warned her. ‘But if you want to learn how to do it, I can teach you.’  
  
Now as much as that sounded like a very tempting offer to Hermione, she still saw a few problems with Dumbledore’s suggestion. ‘Erm, sir, er…’  
  
‘Yes?’ he asked kindly, while he banished her trunk to Ginny’s bedroom.  
  
‘Won’t that cause trouble in the Council if you teach me? I mean you’re not my guide, so…’   
  
‘I am teaching you Occlumency to protect the Order, Harry and yourself. It has nothing to do with your assignment or the Council.’  
  
‘I doubt the others will consider it that way, especially since I am your candidate,’ Hermione retorted. She could so see the huge hullabaloo this could cause.   
  
‘Ah,’ Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘But they can’t forbid it even if they wanted to. I am your Headmaster and as such it is within my privileges to hand out additional assignments to students of Hogwarts. You’re a Hogwarts student; I am giving you an extra curricular activity.’  
  
Hermione smirked. ‘Have you ever given anyone an assignment during the holiday before, Professor?’   
  
‘Why, can’t say I have,’ he grinned. ‘But it’s never too late to pick up a good habit, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Granger?’   
  
Hermione laughed. ‘No, sir, never too late.’   
  
‘Enjoy your stay with your friends, Miss Granger, let that assignment lay for awhile and get some rest.’   
  
Dumbledore watched amused, as Hermione clearly struggled with the concept of letting something lie.   
  
‘I mean it, Hermione,’ he said softly. ‘It’s imperative you leave it be for awhile. Tom can be quite intense. If you take a break from the assignment, you take a break from him. It’s important you gain some distance. Do you understand?’   
  
Hermione nodded, though part of it went above her head. She also wondered if daily lessons with Dumbledore weren’t in complete contradiction with her taking a break from Voldemort, seeing he was the reason for the lessons.   
  
‘Now, enjoy your lunch and I will see you soon for your lessons. Oh, before I forget, here are your O.W.L. results,’ Dumbledore added casually, holding out an envelope. ‘The others received them some time ago, but I figured you’d rather read them without someone else present.’  
  
She stared at the envelope as if it was an invitation to hell. Trembling slightly, she accepted it and just looked at it. Somehow, opening it in front of Dumbledore wasn’t a very attractive idea. What if she failed all her classes? And she had forgotten to mention the possible minority outcome in question four of her Arithmancy test. Oh, oh, oh. Quickly, she walked to the door, determined to find some alone space where she could quietly check her grades.   
  
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Hermione?’  
  
‘Yes, Professor,’ she replied, distracted. ‘Till then.’   
  
And she walked out the door, not realising Albus Dumbledore did not follow. He let out a deep sigh when the door fell shut behind her.  
  
‘Well, that was a very impressive Occlumency performance,’ a soft female voice spoke out of corner. The air rippled, quickly showing an outline, before Ljudmila Volkova fully materialised in the shed.   
  
‘You didn’t get anything from her either?’ Albus inquired.  
  
Ljudmila shook her head, smiling. ‘Quite extra-ordinary, I like her strength of character. Most candidates fail the first time we test their abilities to keep their guides’ secrets. And she actually has more reasons than anyone else to spill the beans on him. She also was quite clever in ditching your traps. She didn’t fall for the guilt trip you tried by questioning her loyalties or the good old “it’s safe to talk behind these wards” trick.’  
  
Albus nodded. ‘I noticed.’   
  
‘Well, Tom was the only one who ever passed this test on a first try, so it’s not surprising his apprentice is doing the same. Aren’t you glad she passed? You seem somewhat gloom, my friend.’  
  
‘I am glad she passed the test, Ljudmila. It’s that pendant, which is worrying me. He slipped a bit about her path in it, so I couldn’t tell her everything else that horrid thing does since it is all connected.’  
  
Ljudmila shrugged and sat down in the chair Hermione had vacated. ‘You worry too much. The girl handled herself admirably so far. And it’s her path, Albus.’  
  
‘It’s the wrong path, Ljudmila. I did it again. I picked another Nathaira.’ Dumbledore shook his head and stared at the closed door.  
  
‘Nathaira is an excellent Keeper. I prefer her over Kollberg any day.’  
  
‘Gunvald has never neglected his Keeper duties. He’s a stable Keeper of the Light,’ Albus objected.  
  
‘Stable yes, but he is not very creative, is he? Kollberg is a fine wizard, but not extra-ordinary. I understand you were shocked by Nathaira’s sway to the dark side and that after it you were more cautious in your candidate choice, but really Albus, I am glad that you didn’t repeat this reserve. Both Li and Nathaira are top of the line Keepers, but Kollberg… well, I am glad that you took a risk again with Hermione. I prefer a powerful dark Keeper over a mediocre light one any day.’  
  
‘You can do that if all you look at is the Council,’ Dumbledore retorted.   
  
‘Well, I have to. Olsen’s death has left a huge power vacuum on the light end. Part of that is due to too much mediocrity slipping into our Council. You nearly got yourself killed during our last trial. And I am an old woman, Albus; we really can’t lose another light Keeper at the moment that’s not me,’ she added; glancing at his injured hand shortly, while she spoke those last four words.  
  
‘I know how you feel, Ljudmila, I know,’ Dumbledore said, silently cursing the old lady’s sharp observational skills.   
  
He’d made an excellent cover story for his hand, but he didn’t think she had bought it. The witch knew him too well, had seen through every one of his schemes when he was still a teenager, and had warned him to do something about some of his more questionable trades when she put him forward as her candidate all those many, many years ago. He wasn’t sure she had ever been completely satisfied with the changes he’d gone through; he knew he wouldn’t have been if he were her.  
  
‘Good, I trust you will keep that in mind, because we can’t keep screwing around like this,’ Ljudmila said seriously. ‘It will only get worse, until the seat is filled again.’  
  
‘I don’t think the light side is the only one in trouble at the moment. We need to start looking at the defence on the other end as well.’  
  
Volkova snorted. ‘I think Tom’s got it covered, and if he hasn’t, Sharasvati can pick up the slack. She did it for years when both he and Gellert were unavailable.’  
  
‘That last blast almost finished Tom off and he is the most powerful of them,’ Albus said doubtfully. ‘Something seems to be altering significantly. Sharasvati is good, but she is not in his league. I don’t think she could pick it up now if for some reason Tom were to be incapacitated.’  
  
Ljudmila Volkova raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Got any plans to incapacitate someone?’ she asked, amused.  
  
‘Lots, none valid enough at the short run though,’ Albus admitted, disgruntled. ‘But I am trying to say we need to start considering other methods to secure it. We’ve become too dependant on individuals, I believe.’  
  
‘Albus, you’re forgetting this always happens when we reach the stage of apprenticeship.’  
  
‘No, it feels worse this time around. The magic is wilder, more unpredictable and a lot quicker in shifting from dark to light and back again.’  
  
Volkova shook her head. ‘Albus, darling, I’ve been doing this for more than two-hundred-something years and I am telling you, I’ve seen this before. There are times when it is calmer, and then, there are times as these when the powers seem more volatile,’ she shrugged.  
  
Dumbledore looked at Volkova thoughtfully. ‘You are absolutely positive about that?’   
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘You’d bet your life on it?’  
  
‘I am, ain’t I?’ she replied, amused. ‘Come on, trust your old mentor and relax for a second, will you? You look like you’re trying to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders.’  
  
Albus sighed. ‘There is a lot going on, Ljudmila, a lot.’  
  
‘You’re too concerned about Hermione Granger.’  
  
‘It doesn’t worry you at all she may choose the dark?’  
  
Volkova leaned forward, her face supported by one of her hands thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly, looking Albus right into his blue eyes. It still unnerved him when she did that. ‘Perhaps not. Nothing is set in stone yet. You worked out your demons pretty well with Mephistopheles as your guide and I daresay he could give Tom some lessons in darkness.’  
  
Albus Dumbledore looked down, staring at the floorboards. Those weren’t pretty memories.  
  
‘I take it the girl has some dark demons inside to conquer, and it is why you picked him?’  
  
Slowly, his head moved up and down in a doubtful nod. Abruptly, he shook it and threw his hands in the air. ‘Was I wrong, Ljudmila?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Should I have – maybe Dubois or Gellert? Oh, I don’t know-’  
  
‘It’s always a risk, Albus,’ Ljudmila said softly. ‘You can’t tell the outcome beforehand. If that were the case, choices would be easy.’  
  
‘What if Hermione becomes another Nathaira? I made this mistake before; why did I do this again?’  
  
‘Isabella made her choice; it was her decision to embrace the darkness.’  
  
‘But I knew – I knew she had it in her, and now, I have taken the same risk again, only it’s worse, because can you possibly imagine Hermione and Tom…,’ Albus trailed off, shaking his head.   
  
‘You took the same risk with Li Mei and that paid off.’  
  
‘Yeah, but Gellert was never as intense as Tom.’  
  
Ljudmila snorted. ‘Really, Albus,  _you_  dare make that statement to me?’   
  
Albus turned red. ‘I-I meant with women.’  
  
‘Glad you cleared that up,’ Ljudmila said, laughing loudly at his faux-pass. ‘You took an educated risk with Hermione, and you would’ve been a fool not to choose Tom. He is the only one qualified to guide her, as was Mephistopheles the only one qualified for you. I do remember the scolding I got from the others when I made him your guide.’ She grinned.  
  
‘A very well-earned scolding, if I may put my one Sickle in. That man nearly destroyed me.’  
  
‘Well, I suppose you have a right to complain about my choice back then. However, this worry you’re feeling about Hermione, it has nothing to do with you being afraid she will turn out like Nathaira.’  
  
Albus Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course it does. Her darkness, don’t tell-’  
  
‘Stop lying to yourself, Albus,’ Ljudmila interrupted sharply. ‘You’re not doing the girl any favours with it. You’re not worried she will be the next Nathaira – Hermione reminds you of someone else and it isn’t Nathaira’s kind of darkness she holds. It’s something a lot more powerful than that. It’s someone a lot more powerful than Nathaira.’  
  
Albus turned pale in the subsequent silence that followed.  
  
‘You’re right,’ he finally admitted. ‘I am not worried Hermione will turn out like Sharasvati. I am worried she will be another…’ he stopped talking, unable to say it.  
  
‘-you,’ Ljudmila finished.   
  
‘Yes,’ Dumbledore whispered.  
  
-


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my beta, Serpent In Red, who will - from hereon - be responsible for any and all errors. :P

**  
  
Chapter Twenty-Four**  
  
‘My Lord,’ Bella greeted hastily, as she practically ran into the luxurious parlour, excited with the news she could share with him. ‘Draco has meetings with Dumbledore. He is some sort of apprentice to—’  
  
 _Not again,_  the Dark Lord thought tiresomely, while blocking out the rest of Bella’s ramblings effortlessly and continuing to stare into thin air in his comfortable chair next to the hearth in the room. He only came back to Malfoy Manor to talk to his Death Eaters. He didn’t need them knowing his true headquarters. Only Nagini, he, and now, Hermione knew he had a base of operations underneath Riddle mansion.   
  
But the pendant would make sure she could not divulge that bit of information. He wondered if she would try though. His mouth curved up at the visual of what would happen to her and her audience if she did. It curved up even further if he considered the possibility of Grindelwald trying to Apparate through his wards there. He knew the only wards Gellert was unable to pass were the ones around the Keepers’ chambers.   
  
A long time ago, when he was still young and …  _innocent_ —he smirked at the thought—he’d managed to isolate a fraction of those wards and take it with him undetected. He had been able to cultivate and grow that fraction into a fully sustainable and nearly undetectable ward around his underground chambers, but he’d been unable in reproducing it. Although, to avoid alerting the others he’d nicked the ward, he would never have used it elsewhere anyway.   
  
No, Olsen, who was the light side’s ward specialist, hadn’t enjoyed it very much when he had tried to reach him on the day of his resurrection. The man’s death had lightened his mood somewhat after Potter’s unfortunate escape. No one had even considered he was involved, because of the impossibility of Keepers killing each other. It had been very amusing seeing them speculate about why Olsen would have tried to pass the wards in the Keeper facility in London without the key.  
  
Perhaps, Grindelwald could be the next victim, and if he was really lucky, maybe Gellert would tag along his boyfriend for the ride again; because apparently, the Keepers own wards overrode Article Two and it would kill them if they tried to pass. The visual of Dumbles and Grindles dying in the same horrific slow manner Olsen had gone made him very, very happy.   
  
Unfortunately, the smile on his face made Bella even more enthusiastic since the woman obviously deduced incorrectly it had to do with her “good” news, and her words flowed through the room like a cascading unstoppable waterfall.   
  
This had become seriously annoying and Dumbledore did nothing about the boy’s pathetic ability to Occlude his mind. The old coot hadn’t even touched the subject of Occlumency with Draco. Well, he had offered to teach Draco but had honoured the insipid boy’s immediate refusal, as if it was up to the apprentice what they wanted to learn. Ridiculous.   
  
He’d seen it all in Malfoy’s mind. Loads and loads of cleverly veiled morality lessons, controlled casting teachings (all based on that moron McMullen’s theory), and essay discussions. It was abundantly clear from the boy’s changing thoughts on the world around him that Dumbles began to have an impact on Malfoy. Not that he cared, the boy was a sacrificial lamb for Lucius’s errors anyway; but Bella wasn’t. And seeing she was the only one trying to teach the blond Occlumency, she frequently came across things she wasn’t supposed to know.   
  
Lord Voldemort sighed. Bella had finally finished talking and bounced on her feet, waiting to be rewarded.   
  
 _Really annoying,_  he added mentally, before he flicked his wand. ‘Obliviate!’  
  
A blank expression appeared on Lestrange’s face before confusion became the primary emotion. Her eyes darted around nervously, obviously not knowing why she was here. He hoped that was all though. You couldn’t Obliviate people indefinitely without causing serious brain damage. Eventually, their mind would become unable to hold onto any memories and they’d become useless. His most valuable Death Eater useless, he couldn’t let that happen. Blasted Dumbledore.  
  
‘Thank you, Bella,’ he said in his most smoothing voice, rising to his feet and clasping his hands behind his back, so he could hold his wand unnoticed by her. ‘You’ve done good work with your cousin.’   
  
He waited and was relieved to see her face light up. She remembered she’d come here to tell him about Draco’s Occlumency lessons. His Memory Charm had been perfectly targeted and had done no lasting damage.  
  
‘And I believe you’re right. You’ve taught him everything you could. The boy is ready to be really tested,’ he continued, ignoring the confusion on Bella’s face since naturally she couldn’t remember making that suggestion. ‘Sent Draco in, will you? I’ll take it from here.’  
  
His voice darkened at the end of the sentence, but Bella didn’t notice that and left happy, like a dog who received a special treat from its master. Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes, considering all possible punishments he could hurtle at the boy for being such a nuisance without giving his insipid guide an opening in the Keeper rules to kill him.   
  
There was a barely audible knock on the door. He smirked. This would be entertaining. Bella was incapable of performing Stage Three Legilimency. Malfoy would be in for a ride. Too bad Lucius wasn’t here to witness his son squirm; because once he was done “explaining” to the ferret—he grinned at remembering the visual in Hermione’s mind—what he needed to learn to shut his mind from, he’d show the rodent the true meaning of pain.  
  
‘Enter,’ he said in his most harmless tone of voice.  
  
\---  
  
Lounging ever so nicely in his personally decorated chamber, which had lost any and all resemblance to a cave, Gellert Grindelwald went through several international magical newspapers with a smirk on his face. Governments hadn’t improved much, and people were still as stupid as ever.   
  
Apparently, he had caused a mayhem at a state dinner in Bulgaria; had Imperiused the Italian Minister of Magic; had been arrested and escaped in Russia; had made all casinos in Vegas pay out, so he’d have funds for his new troops; had spent some quality time with a celebrity witch in Venezuela (he shivered at the thought); had joined forces with fat arse McFurlon ( _as if…_ ); and he could continue listing all “his” activities for a lot longer if he wanted to.   
  
Gellert yawned and stretched out his limbs before taking another bite out of the delicious chocolate cake. It was so nice to be “active”. He sniggered gleefully.  
  
He was about to take another bite when the entire cave shook and he got tossed out of his chair violently, landing quite painfully on his butt. Jumping to his feet with his wand in hand, he cast a spell to identify the origin of the quake-like shake. It was inside! Someone had bypassed Nathaira’s wards.   
  
 _Crap._  
  
If it was Albus already, he was going to be pissed.   
  
But when he Apparated to the place, which had been the starting point of it, he found it wasn’t about him. In the centre of Nathaira’s lab, there was a huge, gaping hole in the floor, gaining size and depth as he watched. His nose picked up the scent of smoke, ash and fire. Carefully, he peeked over the rim and saw lava bubbling far below him. Quickly, he withdrew his precious body out of range and took in the rest of his surroundings.   
  
Nathaira tried to stop the imminent disaster from occurring by trying to control the crack in the rock from spreading farther, while Lovegood seemed to fade in and out of focus a few feet away. The mostly blurry appearing blonde had her hands in the air and a positively delighted expression on her face, while she danced around inside a translucent magical pyramid, talking to something or someone he obviously couldn’t see.   
  
Gellert rubbed his forehead. What could possibly have happened here?  
  
He stared from Lovegood to the hole, trying to see some form of correlation between her actions and its growth. A sizzling sound came from behind him and he moved away just in time when steam burst through the solid rock’s surface far too close to his previous position. The cave shook again and cracks began to appear in the ceiling.   
  
‘Bloody hell, Gellert, do something!’ Nathaira shouted.   
  
He’d loved to, but what? He had no idea what caused this and he didn’t think sealing cracks continuously would solve the problem.   
  
‘What happened?’  
  
‘How should I know?’  
  
‘Your cave, your apprentice.’  
  
Nathaira growled and cast a curse at Luna Lovegood. It soared right through the witch. ‘As you can see,’ she said, aggravated, ‘I can’t seem to reach Miss Moron, who’s rupturing space as we speak.’  
  
‘Interesting,’ Gellert said thoughtfully. ‘It’s almost like Lovegood is out of phase with…’   
  
He stopped and turned pale. Why did these things always have to happen to him?   
  
He finally secured a wand, and now, this occurred.   
  
He had to time it right. One miscalculation and those papers would be right. He would be everywhere at once, Splinched all over the planet. Coolly, Gellert counted the intervals in which Luna seemed to be solid. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, here goes nothing.   
  
With a crack, he Disapparated.   
  
‘Gellert! You treacherous, self-serving, impossible—’  
  
A shocked shriek left Luna’s lips as Gellert Apparated next to her and grabbed her around her waist. ‘Hold still,’ he ordered, not losing his count.   
  
He quickly looked around the environment in the pyramid; the air inside glowed and seemed a bit denser than normal. Odd. It smelled like rotten eggs in here. Sulphur, he realised and held his breath immediately.  _Four, five,_  he counted in his mind, wanting to be out of there as quickly as possible.  
  
He Disapparated them both.   
  
The cave walls turned still. The fountain of steam stopped hissing. There was no longer any progression in the amount of damage. However, that which was already done needed fixing as soon as possible or it would explode with such force that Nathaira was certain a new atlas would have to be made. Her wand flowing in complex figures, Nathaira made the lava in the hole rise until it almost reached the floor, and then, she cooled it instantly, forming a new stable rock surface. Swiftly, she sealed the other minor cracks before she lowered her wand and waited.   
  
‘Come on, you crazy wizard,’ she mumbled, tapping her wand in her hand nervously. If Luna Lovegood was dead, she’d be in serious trouble.   
  
 _Crack!_  
  
Gellert and Luna reappeared.   
  
‘You!’ Nathaira hissed at the blonde girl.   
  
But she couldn’t finish her rant, because Luna collapsed in Gellert’s arms. Gasping for air, Luna mowed with her arms around not able to take a hold of anything. Her arm went straight through his torso like he wasn’t there, while Gellert was able to touch her.   
  
‘Quickly, Natty, I must have been off for a split-second. She needs a good shock to her system or she dies.’  
  
‘Conjure a mirror,’ Nathaira ordered before turning around and hissing and spitting without taking in breath. ‘Keep her eyes on the mirror,’ she continued, turning back to Gellert, who held Luna’s face in a firm grasp now he heard a large body slither closer. ‘And may I recommend closing your eyes yourself,’ she added humorously. ‘I am running a bit low on Mandrake Draught.’  
  
When he saw the huge shadow appear in the opened door, he didn’t need a second incentive and pressed his eyelids together.   
  
 _Stupid Basilisks._  
  
It wasn’t the danger. He liked dangerous creatures, but he preferred to be able to watch them undisturbed. He didn’t like them slithering around him when he couldn’t keep an eye on their actions. Besides, Chimaeras were his absolute favourite. They were much more fun and Acromantulas had far too many hairy legs anyway. He shivered.  
  
Gellert stood there feeling utterly ridiculous, while he heard Nathaira hiss fluently in Parseltongue. A second later, Luna turned to stone in his arms. Some more Parseltongue breathed around the room, until…  
  
‘You can open your eyes now.’  
  
Gellert looked up and saw Nathaira bending down with a vial in her hand. She uncorked it and tried to get it between the girl’s lips. ‘You could have made an attempt to keep her mouth somewhat open,’ Nathaira grumbled, whipping her wand at Luna’s mouth to get the potion in.  
  
‘You’re welcome, Gellert, for risking your life and saving mine by not getting my apprentice killed… oh, and for preventing the entire country from being blown to Kingdom Come.’  
  
‘I’ll thank you once it has worked.’  
  
With a slight cough, Luna woke in a daze. ‘Did it work?’ she asked with curious enthusiasm. ‘Did they show themselves?’  
  
‘Crucio!’ Nathaira cast.   
  
Gellert dropped Luna immediately and jumped back. ‘Aren’t you glad you allowed me to stay?’ he asked through the screams. ‘You’d never got through that pyramid ward intact!’  
  
‘Yes, Gellert!’ Nathaira shouted back, rolling her eyes, while keeping her wand steadily pointed at Luna. ‘You were a real hero, so, thank you! Now piss off, I have to explain to this little bitch that she’s not allowed to rupture space in her search for these nonexistent, time-reversing creatures!’   
  
‘Time-reversing creatures?’  
  
‘She thinks it’s how she can undo an already cast spell,’ Nathaira said tiresomely, barely audible over Luna’s pain-filled cries.  
  
‘By reversing time?’ Gellert tilted his head. ‘Unusual approach.’  
  
‘It’s been tried a thousand times before with Time-Turners. It doesn’t work,’ Nathaira said in a clipped tone of voice. ‘And I will get it into her thick head her silly search needs to end today.’  
  
‘Good luck,’ Gellert wished her ironically before Apparating back to his chocolate cake.  
  
Nathaira whirled her wand around, keeping the curse on Luna, while relishing the future where she would finally get that little blonde bitch to stop ignoring her path and be welcomed in the world of nightmares. Yes, in two days she’d meet up with Riddle and he would be in for an unpleasant surprise.   
  
 _Nobody ignores Isabella Sharasvati Nathaira, not Him and not this silly girl, nobody._  
  
\---  
  
After their lunch at the garden table of the Burrow, the four of them went upstairs to get some privacy and exchange news. However, a soft triple of footsteps hurried along after them. Hermione, who was last on the revolving staircase, saw Ron look back and freeze, while his eyes turned dreamy. She raised her eyebrows at his unusual behaviour when…  
  
‘Arry, Arry!’ Fleur Delacour called out behind her.   
  
 _Oh please, how pathetic. Hadn’t he got used to her by now? She wasn’t even full Veela._  
  
At the top of the stairs, Ginny scowled and crossed her arms in front of her chest, deliberately not turning around, as if the woman would go away if she ignored her hard enough.   
  
Harry turned on the step above Ron. ‘What is it?’ he inquired casually.  
  
 _Apparently not all males were morons. At least Harry didn’t act like a drooling buffoon._  
  
‘Bill just Floo-ed zees to me,’ said Fleur, holding out a sack of gold over Hermione’s shoulder. ‘Zeese days Gringotts’s security ees through the roof. Bill knew the Order vouldn’t vant you to be ’eld up in a seengle place for such a long time, and you’d be needing your money to get your books, so he got the Goblins’ asseestance,’ she added proudly. ‘He can be so conseederate, don’t you theenk?’   
  
‘Er… yes,’ Harry replied, accepting the sachet. ‘Thanks Fleur, and thank Bill for me.’  
  
‘You’re velcome,’ Fleur said, darting off.   
  
Harry moved back up together with Ginny, but Ron still stared dreamily in the direction Fleur Delacour had disappeared in. Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face.  
  
Nothing happened.   
  
So, she kicked him.   
  
‘Eh!’ Ron shouted, jumping up and down on one leg, while grabbing the painful one with his hand. ‘What y’do that for?’  
  
She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, roughly. ‘Need to ask?’  
  
 _Gosh, men are so pitiable, senseless creatures—always following their dicks around, especially the brainless ones._  
  
‘Well, I—I, she took me by surprise,’ Ron said apologetically; his ears turned red.  
  
‘Fleur told me during lunch she’s been here for weeks now. Have you been like this all that time?’ Hermione asked, disgust dripping though her voice.  
  
‘Only if she springs on me like that,’ Ron muttered, following Hermione disgruntled while rubbing his aching shin every other step.   
  
Ginny grabbed the door handle to Fred and George’s room on the second floor and opened it with an exaggerated dance-like bow. ‘Zere, Arry,’ she peeped in a false high voice. ‘So, you don’t have to vait een front of ze door.’   
  
Hermione giggled and shared a look of understanding with Ginny, who mouthed “boys” in her direction with an eye-roll as she followed Harry inside.  
  
Despite that the small window had been opened and a hot summer’s breeze blew through the room, it still smelled like gunpowder in there. Curiously, Hermione looked around. The ground and walls were littered with cardboard boxes. Harry’s trunk stood beside the bed and was obviously being used as a temporary table, while the bedside table hosted a red-and-gold Gryffindor Hogwarts’ lamp.   
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. How had they nicked it? Those lamps were supposedly impossible to remove from the dormitories.  
  
Ron pulled a cardboard box over and sat down, while Harry crashed on the bed. ‘How have you been?’ he asked Hermione.  
  
‘Yeah, did you have a good vacation?’ Ginny added, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.   
  
 _Oh no, it was really uneventful. I just turned the country dark, blew up a vase or two, and oh... fucked Lord Voldemort. How was your day?_  
  
‘So-so,’ Hermione responded instead, keeping the answer in the middle. ‘What about y’all?’ she eyed each and every one of them curiously before ending with Harry, scrutinising him. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d been the last time she saw him.  
  
He shrugged. ‘Alright I suppose. Got here real soon, so the Dursleys must have been mighty disappointed they couldn’t ignore me any longer.’ He sniggered. ‘Dumbledore made glasses of mead dance on their heads.’  
  
‘What!’ Ron said, turning his head to Harry slightly peeved, while Ginny and Hermione laughed at the visual. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’  
  
‘I forgot.’  
  
‘You forgot,’ Ron repeated, disgruntled. ‘Man, I wish I could have seen that. Must have been some show.’  
  
‘It was.’  
  
Hermione felt immensely relieved to see Harry so at ease. It seemed he no longer wallowed around in guilt over Sirius’s death if he could enjoy silly things as dancing glasses on his uncle’s head again. Though, she did feel that getting soaked with mead was hardly enough retribution for what the Dursleys had done to Harry all these years.   
  
Typically Dumbledore. Abuse a child for decades and I’ll cover you in mead. Ooooo… scary, we’ll never do it again. She had a few suggestions that might be more…  _fitting_. Mmm… perhaps a little detour was in order when she went to Diagon Alley to get her books?   
  
‘We haven’t done much here,’ Ginny told Hermione, shaking her out of her vengeful happy thoughts, while the redhead walked to the bed and sat down beside Harry. ‘Just played a bit of Quidditch and helped out Mum. We wanted to go see Fred and George’s shop, but we’re not allowed to go to Diagon Alley alone anymore. It’s too dangerous,’ she said with a scowl.   
  
‘So, you haven’t got your schoolbooks yet either?’ Hermione inquired with a hint of excitement in her voice.   
  
Ron rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Jokeshop—bookshop, how did we end up there?’ he grinned.  
  
‘No, and it’s just as well,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t get an Outstanding for Potions, so I wouldn’t have bought sixth year's textbooks; but seeing how Snape is no longer around—’  
  
‘Yes!’ Ron cheered, raising his arms in the air in joy.   
  
Hermione sent Ron a stern glare, but he merely shrugged, not in the least bit sorry about Snape being gone.  
  
‘—I might be able to take Potions, depending on the new teacher’s N.E.W.T. rules,’ Harry finished.  
  
‘How did you do on your O.W.L.s?’  
  
‘We both got seven each,’ Ron said, sticking out his chest proudly. ‘And you?’ he asked with a face that clearly said he had no doubts about the outcome of all of Hermione’s O.W.L.s.  
  
‘Ermm…’ Hermione turned red and looked away. ‘Fine,’ she mumbled shortly.   
  
Her E in defence didn’t sit too well with her. Every Keeper she’d met so far was bound to have had better grades than her. An E just didn’t qualify. She had to do better. And she certainly had to learn that Occlumency thing Dumbledore told her about now. She really, _really_  didn’t want Voldemort knowing she got an E.   
  
Ugh, she could just imagine what would happen. First, there would be that smug expression; second, the barely veiled taunts; and then, he was bound to go even further berserk on his teachings, which really was unnecessary—Lord O.C.D.   
  
‘Oh please, like you didn’t pass every subject,’ Ron said, half amused, half aggravated. ‘Eleven O.W.L.s, right?’  
  
The door opened and Mrs. Weasley stuck her head around the corner. ‘Ginny, come help me clean up the kitchen for the Order meeting.’  
  
‘I am talking to this lot!’ Ginny objected, enraged.  
  
‘Now,’ Mrs. Weasley ordered, clearly not taking no for an answer, while closing the door behind her again.  
  
‘She just doesn’t want to be alone with Phlegm,’ Ginny grumbled, standing up crossly.   
  
‘Phlegm?’ asked Hermione, amused.   
  
‘Yes, zear, Phlegm ees my name,’ Ginny explained overly sweet. She bowed to Hermione and kissed the air next to her cheeks exaggeratedly. ‘Eet ’as been too long, ’ermione.’   
  
Quickly, Ginny twirled around on her toes before she sashayed to the door, holding her hands above her head in a ballerina’s arch. ‘You lot better come quickly too,’ she threatened before leaving the room.  
  
The silence Ginny left behind was quite uncomfortably filling the room. Harry grabbed a Quidditch magazine and flipped the pages absentmindedly, while Ron tapped on the trunk-table. Hermione had the distinct feeling that the hard questions would come now. She watched her hands nervously, figuring she might as well sit down, while she tried to muddle through it all. Seeing she didn’t trust the cardboard boxes as a seat like Ron did, she crossed her legs and sat down on the floor next to the table.   
  
It was weird being back. On the one hand, it was familiar. It felt safe and normal to talk to Harry and Ron again, and on the other hand, she felt out of the loop—like she no longer belonged here, like she was a traitor. How had Snape coped for all those years? How had he lived with himself? And he hadn't even "slept" with Voldemort... well, for as far as she knew. Though, she supposed he had killed for the man, which in her opinion was worse than having sex with him. It was a line she had not crossed. A line she would never cross.   
  
‘So,’ Ron started, looking at her curiously, ‘what did Dumbledore want?’  
  
‘He—he…’ Hermione hesitated, ‘he is going to give me Occlumency lessons, while I am here.’  
  
Harry’s head peeked up, watching her with interest.   
  
‘You too? He’s also going to teach Harry.’ Ron’s voice sounded somewhat disgruntled, like he felt left out.  
  
‘Oh?’ Hermione said, looking at Harry questioningly. ‘Is he going to teach you Occlumency now, because Professor Snape died?’  
  
‘No,’ Harry said, shaking his head. ‘He said I no longer need it; that Voldemort couldn’t stand to be in my mind.’  
  
 _Wish I could borrow some of that,_  Hermione thought ironically.  
  
‘And that he would Occlude his mind from me.’  
  
‘Then… what is he going to teach you?’  
  
‘I have no idea. Why do you need to learn Occlumency?’  
  
‘Yeah,’ agreed Ron, a bit too eager in putting his two Knuts in. ‘It’s not like he’s in your mind like he was in Harry’s.’  
  
Hermione’s mind reeled. She’d thought of an explanation, but the lie didn’t sit too well with her, because she knew how it would make Harry feel. Trying to come up with another solution, however, had turned futile, so she sighed.   
  
‘He—the Order—they think …’ she paused, throwing her hands in the air. ‘I have become a target, okay.’   
  
Horrified, Harry just stared at her, while Ron turned pale. ‘What do you mean, target?’ Ron whispered.  
  
Hermione moved her legs underneath her and shrugged casually. ‘It’s not new actually. I am a Muggle-born after all, and apparently, they think I’ll be easy pickings after I went down so fast in the Ministry. It’s all really flattering.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But in case they do succeed in catching me, Professor Dumbledore wants me to be able to Occlude my mind; so, he’s going to teach me.’  
  
‘In case they catch you,’ Ron repeated; his face became a sickly colour.   
  
Harry jumped to his feet. ‘Well, they are not,’ he said furiously. ‘And—and…’ He fell silent, looking down at Hermione, who was now twiddling a small telescope between her fingers. ‘You tell them everything, Hermione, you hear me, everything. I don’t care how well Dumbledore teaches you Occlumency, you’ll tell them.’  
  
‘What,’ she snapped, looking up from examining the telescope in her hands.  
  
Harry strengthened his jaw. ‘If they catch you, you’ll tell them what they want to know. I don’t want you hurt over me.’  
  
‘Harry,’ she tried.  
  
‘No, this stupid prophecy is about me, not my friends,’ he said, pacing the room to and fro angrily.   
  
When he mentioned the prophecy, Hermione glanced at Ron who barely dared to meet her eyes, feeling guilty about his previous envy.   
  
Hermione looked down. Harry was instructing her to tell Lord Voldemort everything when she had basically already done just that, every time he had entered her mind. She was the worst person on the planet. Now, she’d made both her friends miserable. She was slimier than the worst slime, lowest of the low, scummiest of the scum. Damn those Keepers and their stupid secrecy.   
  
‘If this is how it’s going to be, then I will just go over there and get it over and done with,’ Harry continued, aggravated. ‘Neither can live … pfftt.’ He kicked one of the boxes and several pops sounded inside, while the walls bulged.   
  
‘Careful, mate,’ Ron warned. ‘No one knows precisely what Fred and George put in these boxes.’  
  
‘Well, maybe it can kill me. That’ll save everyone a shipload of trouble,’ Harry said darkly.  
  
‘But you never heard the prophecy. It got smashed,’ said Hermione in a small voice.  
  
‘The Prophet said he is The—’ Ron started.  
  
‘The Prophet,’ Hermione interrupted with a sarcastic snarl.  
  
‘The Prophet’s got it right,’ Harry said, stopping in his tracks and looking at them both with great effort. Ron looked frightened and Hermione positively confused. She hadn’t read a Daily Prophet in weeks and wondered what on earth it could be right about.   
  
‘That glass sphere wasn’t the only record,’ Harry continued. ‘The prophecy was made to Dumbledore and he told me.’  
  
 _Dumbledore, right. Now, they were bound to have all the answers._  
  
‘It seems I am the one who has to finish off Voldemort. Well, at least it said neither could live while the other survived.’   
  
Hermione gasped for air. Images of Lord Voldemort performing magic passed before her mind’s eye; the way he had relocated the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. Harry was going to die!   
  
In fear, she squeezed the telescope in her hands, and with a loud bang and a puff of smoke, something impacted on her eye. She fell backward and coughed, waving her arms around. Shouts mentioning her name sounded in the distance when the smoke cleared, because Harry and Ron pulled her up by her arms simultaneously.   
  
‘What happened?’ they asked in unison.  
  
‘I squeezed it and it punched me,’ Hermione squeaked aghast, still coughing, while her eye turned black.   
  
The telescope she held up in her hand had a tiny fist bungling off its end. Ron tried hard not to laugh, but he couldn’t withhold some muffled chuckles. ‘This is Fred and George’s old room; why are you playing around with their stuff?’  
  
‘Well, I was curious what they could have done to a telescope,’ Hermione responded, tossing the thing on the ground.   
  
‘Glad you solved the mystery?’ he asked ironically, and upon seeing her glare, he continued, ‘oh, don’t worry, Hermione. Mum’s got loads of experience with injuries caused by them. I am sure she can fix that eye of yours in no time.’   
  
‘Well, never mind that now,’ she said, turning her attention back on Harry. ‘What are you going to do? I mean Ron and I already thought …’ They shared a glance. ‘Well, when Dumbledore took you aside and all that, we knew he wouldn’t do it without a good reason. But we didn’t know and you were positively unapproachable, so...’ she stopped, watching his expression falter when the subject of Sirius got closer.   
  
‘We were worried,’ Ron finished for her.   
  
‘Yes,’ she confirmed firmly, crossing her arms.  
  
‘Sorry.’  
  
‘Sorry,’ Hermione repeated, glaring at Harry, trying to hide her fear behind anger. ‘Sorry doesn’t cut it. We are your friends. And—and… oh Harry.’ She pulled him into a tight hug. ‘You can’t die on us, you hear me. You’re not allowed.’  
  
‘O-okay?’ Harry stuttered ironically over her shoulder.  
  
She slapped his arm. ‘Not funny. Now, what did this prophecy say exactly? Maybe we can figure out something, find a loophole or whatever? Oh, do you think Dumbledore is going to teach you stuff to defend yourself?’  
  
‘Must be,’ Ron answered, turning excited. ‘So, he must think you have a chance. He wouldn’t teach you if he thought you were a goner.’  
  
‘Advance defence, counter-curses, and there are several useful jinxes as well,’ Hermione summed up, trying hard to make herself feel better about this unfortunate news. Mmm … she needed to finish those Dark Arts books quickly; maybe she could show Harry how to do a thing or two? Now that would be positively ironic. Hermione giggled.   
  
Both boys stared at her in surprise.   
  
‘Nothing, nothing,’ she said, waving with her hand through the air to dismiss her giggle. ‘Just thinking of stuff that could help and thought of the jinx I used on Marietta.’  
  
Ron snorted.   
  
‘I doubt Voldemort will be worried if I write "sneak" on his face,’ Harry replied humorously.   
  
‘"Snake" would be more suiting,’ Ron joked.   
  
‘All those pimples on his flawless skin, he’d never dare to go out ever again,’ Harry added.   
  
Hermione bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing.  
  
‘No, he’d have to hide inside for the rest of his life,’ Ron mocked. ‘Or wear a hood to cover the atrocity of his face.’  
  
‘He already does that,’ Harry reminded Ron, sniggering.  
  
‘Oho!’ Ron shouted as if a lightbulb had flashed over his head. ‘Maybe it’s already happened then. Damn Hermione, someone beat you to it. He’ll never be pretty again.’  
  
Both boys roared with laughter and Hermione couldn’t hold it in any longer either, so the three of them were practically bursting with mirth when Ginny got back in.   
  
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, not amused they hadn’t come down, too.  
  
The three of them briefly looked at each other and then let out a simultaneous snort before roaring again. Ron explained all hiccoughing, laughing, snorting, and clutching to his stomach why they were laughing in a totally incomprehensible speech, while Harry and Hermione rolled over the floor laughing even harder when words as “pimples”, “Voldemort”, and “victory is ours” passed by.  
  
So, Ginny arched an eyebrow and shook her head, waiting for them to return to planet Earth. It took some time, but eventually, the three of them were done and looked at Ginny.   
  
‘I got kicked out of the kitchen and was supposed to inform you all to stay upstairs since they’re having an important Order Meeting, which is not for little children,’ she imitated, annoyed. ‘But they are letting Fred and George sit in.’  
  
The last bit came out even more snappish, as if she couldn’t stand it that they were perceived to be adults and she wasn’t.   
  
‘Oh, then we can ask them what’s being said,’ Ron said, relieved.  
  
‘You think they are going to tell us, bro?’ Ginny asked, watching him with pity. ‘Or do you think they will pat you on the head and tell you all mocking that little kiddies aren’t supposed to be bothered with dangerous things such as these?’  
  
Ron groaned, knowing Ginny was probably right. ‘They’ll tell Harry,’ he said, upbeat again.  
  
‘Probably, if I can get them alone,’ Harry replied casually.   
  
The four of them, who had probably seen more action than most of the adult Order members, shared a look of understanding. It really felt out of place and somewhat silly they weren’t allowed to attend, especially since so much of it concerned Harry, and as such, those closest to him.   
  
Ignoring the things she couldn’t fix at the moment, Hermione focused back on the issue at hand—the prophecy. For a second, her eyes darted between Ginny and Harry uncertain.   
  
Harry smiled, realising what held Hermione back from speaking out loud. ‘She already knows about the prophecy,’ he admitted.  
  
‘Eh,’ Ron said, swivelling his head between them, confused. ‘How come—?’  
  
Hermione interrupted him abruptly. ‘So, this prophecy, we have to find a solution to it,’ she said, determined. ‘What did it say precisely?’  
  
\---


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**  
  
 _“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”_  
  
The note, she made in her tiny scrawl to be able to dissect the sentences and words more properly, lay next to her; but her mind wasn’t on the wording of the prophecy right now.   
  
Grumbling, she flipped through the pages of  _“How to train your Inner Eye”_. She had four Hogwarts’ Divination textbooks stacked up next to her – none of them hers and none of them helpful. She’d raided Harry’s trunk for them since she’d dropped Divination and after he and Ron (who did take the stupid subject) had been unable to supply her with answers to, quite frankly in her opinion, not that hard questions. All they did was stare at her with a dumbfounded “uh” expression.   
  
 _Useless, the both of them._  
  
So, it hadn’t taken long before her three companions in the room had found excuses to leave her and her angry comments about all silly things called Divination alone to go outside and play some more Quidditch. She’d heard Ron say to someone “to not go in there, because Hermione is in her scary mode”, but Mrs. Weasley had brought her tea and biscuits anyway.   
  
She glared at the book while finishing the last of the delicious cookies. This book had seemed the most promising after all. Surely, in a book that was supposed to  _train an Inner Eye_  –she snorted– there should be some reference material to the validity of said Inner Eye.   
  
But  _nooooo_ , apparently, you were to take it all at face value. No footnotes, no cross-referencing, no mentioning of any other literature except for the couple of ancient volumes of famous Seers (whose books only described their prophecies anyway), no research or tests – it all reminded her why she’d dropped the insane subject in the first place. How could someone who was supposed to be  _oh so_ intelligent – she rolled her eyes at recalling his smug and haughty expression – act on this nonsense?  
  
‘Bullocks,’ she sneered, staring into thin air annoyed. ‘Oh see,’ she said, pretending to be Trelawney while waving her teacup theatrically in the air as if she was showing it to an audience, ‘behold, my tea leaves are signalling the coming of coffee in my life.’   
  
A chuckle sounded behind her, and she froze in her ridiculous pose. ‘Thinking of changing your curriculum, Miss Granger?’ Dumbledore asked, amused.   
  
‘Not for a second,’ she grumbled, tossing the book away and looking in his direction. ‘The subject is useless.’  _Let’s get together and sing, tralala._  
  
‘Divination is a controversial subject,’ he replied, nodding seriously. ‘But we’d do best to remember that, despite our opinions, there will always be people glancing at their coffee beans for answers to their problems,’ he ended with a twinkle.   
  
‘Oh, now my coffee is tainted, too,’ Hermione sighed humorously, dropping her head.   
  
Dumbledore chuckled. ‘I apologise sincerely. Now, I have spoken with Molly to inform her of your lessons, and we can start right now if you’re ready?’   
  
She scrambled to her feet eagerly, nodding her head. ‘Of course I am.’   
  
Though, she did have one issue to raise before they started, like how was she going to keep her confidentiality agreement if she’d let Albus Dumbledore in her mind. She just had to figure out how to ask it without screwing up her chances of getting the lessons altogether.   
  
 _And warble a song about spring. Spring, spring, spring._  Mentally, she cursed the individual who’d reminded her there was always something much, much worse than the Beatles to get stuck with in your mind.  _This is the season to sing._  
  
‘Then, please, follow me. If it’s not too much trouble with your eye – something of Fred and George’s caused it, I assume?’ he concluded, chuckling.   
  
‘A punching telescope,’ she explained, smiling.   
  
Hermione followed Dumbledore down the stairs, but instead of going to the backdoor, he walked on. ‘Aren’t we going to the outhouse again, sir?’   
  
‘No, I wanted to, but Molly wouldn’t have it. She insisted we use the living room.’ Dumbledore ushered her in, while casting a Silencing Charm over the entire room.   
  
To Hermione’s surprise, the living room wasn’t empty. On one of the couches sat an elderly, stately witch with medium-length, curly, white hair, though Hermione did spot a few grey flecks in there. Her robes were an unusual dark yellow colour, which brought out the most striking feature of the woman: her strange, piercing, amber, wolf-like eyes. Seeing the intensity in those eyes, Hermione was almost absolutely certain she was dealing with another Master in Legilimency and averted her eyes immediately.   
  
 _Get into the mood and be merry today. Blasted sing, sing, sing. Someone should shoot those composers today. Tralala._  
  
‘Hermione, I’d like you to meet my fellow Keeper, Ljudmila Volkova,’ Dumbledore introduced them, while Ljudmila rose from the couch. Hermione noted they were about the same height. ‘Ljudmila, this is Hermione Granger.’   
  
‘Nice to meet you, ma’am,’ Hermione said.   
  
She held out her hand carefully, seeing how the old lady’s hand seemed very fragile and easy to break. But when their hands were inches apart, a feeling of static electricity jolted between them. Only it was more powerful than any static jolt she’d ever felt before in her life.   
  
Hermione yelped in pain, withdrawing her hand while shaking it to get rid of the uncomfortable, prickling sensation. Volkova, on the other hand, had taken to get as far away from Hermione as possible, standing against the living room wall with her wolf eyes wide and shifting colour. Fur began to appear on her face.   
  
‘What for Merlin’s sake!’ Dumbledore cursed, jumping between them with his wand drawn and raising some form of magical barricade. ‘Ljudmila?’   
  
The woman morphed back and forth between half-human and half-Animagus form, like she couldn’t decide what to be. She held up her hand-paw-hand to signal to Albus to wait. He turned to Hermione, who rubbed her hand vigorously. ‘Hermione?’   
  
‘I can’t feel my hand anymore,’ she replied, worried. ‘And it’s getting worse. My fingers won’t move as I want them to.’   
  
Concerned, Dumbledore looked at her hand. He stepped closer, and Hermione held out her slowly blue-turning hand. He took a hold of her wrist and raised his wand.   
  
‘Don’t do anything, Albus,’ Ljudmila barked. ‘You’ll make it worse.’   
  
He turned his head to the full-blown wolf. ‘What’s happening, Ljudmila?’   
  
‘Give me a moment to adjust; I’ll fix it.’   
  
‘Her hand turned blue and it’s ice-cold,’ Albus retorted. ‘I am afraid she’s going to lose it if I don’t stop it now.’   
  
‘In a minute,’ Ljudmila growled; coming from her wolf’s mouth, it sounded incredibly menacing.   
  
Her amber eyes flashed bright yellow. A white glow erupted from the centre of her being and evolved until it fully surrounded her. The power pulsed around her like an aura. Hermione staggered back, and Dumbledore just caught her from tumbling to the ground.   
  
‘Ljudmila, stop it!’ he shouted warningly, casting another protective shield around the now ghostly white Hermione. ‘Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it!’   
  
The wolf tilted its head back and howled. Despite the elaborate shielding, Hermione shivered in his arms. A desperate, agonised cry left her lips.   
  
Dumbledore raised his wand at Hermione to stop whatever it was that was obviously killing the girl. A jet of red struck him in his back, and he flew through the air, crashing into the sideboard and breaking several bottles of Firewhiskey and some glasses. No longer supported by his arms, Hermione fell to the floor, trembling relentlessly.   
  
‘I said, don’t touch her,’ Ljudmila barked.   
  
She closed her eyes and dropped her head; the white aura flew back inside of her, like mist travelling to her heart. Slowly, the wolf rose on its back legs and shifted back to human form. Her still yellow eyes snapped open; she whipped out her wand, and ran to Hermione, dropping to her knees beside the now still figure. Brown eyes watched her fearfully, while drops of sweat leaked from her forehead into her bushy hair.   
  
‘Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be fine, but … this will hurt,’ Ljudmila warned her, and then, she pushed her hand on Hermione’s chest and forced that same white mist inside.   
  
A howl left Hermione’s lips as all her muscles contracted simultaneously. Her body lifted slightly off the ground, and she crashed down when the witch removed her hand. Breathing heavily, Hermione shook all over. Cautiously, she checked out her limbs. Her hand was no longer blue, and sensation had returned to it. She could move again. She could move again.   
  
She closed her eyes for a moment to grab a hold of herself and regain control. When she was sure she wasn’t going to fall apart, she opened them again and saw Albus Dumbledore standing above her, looking down concerned, while Ljudmila Volkova observed her with sheer joy written all over her face. The witch held out her hand to Hermione, who quirked an eyebrow at the gesture.   
  
‘It’s safe now,’ Volkova reassured her. ‘I wasn’t expecting it the first time we tried to touch.’   
  
Somehow, Hermione just knew she could take the woman at her word, and she took her fragile-appearing, wrinkled hand carefully. She got surprised by the firm grip she received back and the ease in which the witch pulled her to a standing position. The small, skinny witch was a lot stronger than she seemed at first glance.   
  
 _Deceptive appearance_ , she noted.  _Music’s a wonderful thing._  
  
‘Well,’ Ljudmila said smiling, ‘now that all the excitement is over. It’s nice to meet you officially, too, Hermione. And please call me Ljudmila. Ma’am makes me feel like a woman of my age.’ She chuckled.   
  
Hermione gave her a weak smile back. What on earth had just happened? She was about to ask when Professor Dumbledore beat her to it.   
  
‘What did you do, Ljudmila?’   
  
‘It wasn’t so much what I did, as what I didn’t prevent. It’s been so long since this happened to me – I dropped my guard.’ She turned to Hermione. ‘I am sorry. Most people don’t respond to the power, and I know what it is like to be on the receiving end of it. I didn’t mean to do it to you. I hope you can forgive me.’   
  
Slowly, Hermione nodded. ‘Of course. It was an accident, and you did help me afterward,’ she said reasonably. ‘But why did I react to it? Whatever it is.’   
  
‘I’ll tell you if you make Keeper, otherwise I ca–’   
  
‘She’ll be Obliviated of the knowledge if she doesn’t gain the position,’ Dumbledore interrupted, a curious look in his eyes. ‘You can tell her.’   
  
Ljudmila turned and faced him. ‘Yes, you’re right. I can tell her. However, the information is only handed down to those it concerns. Others, including you, Albus, are not entitled to the knowledge,’ she said briskly before turning to Hermione. ‘Once I am positive you’ve gained enough control over your compartmentalising skills to use it in an attacking capability, I will tell you what just happened and what it may one day mean for you. Until then, I can’t risk the knowledge getting into Tom, Albus, or any other Master of Legilimency’s hands.’   
  
‘Okay,’ agreed Hermione rather rapidly.   
  
She positively gloated over the fact that something was kept from Albus Dumbledore that, for once, she didn’t mind at all about not getting the answer straight away herself.   
  
‘Now, let’s all sit down,’ Ljudmila suggested. ‘It talks easier and we don’t need to stand during.’ She took her own words at heart and sat down back in the couch. Dumbledore, who plucked thoughtfully on his beard, took the sagging armchair near the hearth, but Hermione glanced at the couch doubtfully.   
  
‘Sorry to be so bold,’ she started, ‘but – er…– if you two take up spaces at other ends of the room that sort of leaves me with the dilemma of where to keep my eyes on.’   
  
Ljudmila laughed. ‘What tipped you off?’   
  
‘It’s in the eyes … and Professor Dumbledore did mention your name as another Master this morning when he spoke of his effortless Stage One Legilimency.’   
  
‘Well, despite that I am a Master, too, I assure you that stupid little gay spring song in your mind is doing the trick just fine, and you have my word I’ll avoid entering your mind from now on, unless we need to for your lesson.’   
  
‘You can also do Legilimency without trying,’ Hermione recalled, but she sat down anyway. There was something about the woman that just screamed sincerity when she made that promise. Still, she wondered why Dumbledore felt the need to bring another Master along. Couldn’t he teach her on his own? Or was this some attempt to flush out what she’d been doing at Voldemort’s place?   
  
‘Yes,’ Ljudmila replied to her statement about her Legilimency abilities. ‘But I’ve also learnt to suppress it. Some of us,’ she glanced at Albus with a smug smirk, ‘have more control over it than others.’   
  
Albus Dumbledore chuckled. ‘Don’t hold back, Ljudmila. Just say what you mean.’   
  
Volkova winked. ‘You’ll learn to control those impulses one day, Albus. I am sure of it. All you have to do is want them to stop.’   
  
‘You do know that’s really not helpful, do you, Ljudmila?’   
  
‘It’s the best I can do, dear. You have to figure those things out on your own.’   
  
 _Oh great, another person with an aptitude for cryptic statements. Like she needed any more of those in her life._    
  
Though, Hermione had to admit it was nice to see Dumbledore be on the receiving end for a chance. Speaking of Dumbledore, the moment she thought that, he turned to his attention to her.  _Let’s sing a gay little spring song._  
  
‘Now, you’re probably curious as to why Ljudmila is here, and it is not just you and me?’   
  
Hermione nodded. ‘Was there a problem in the Council over you teaching me?’   
  
Dumbledore smiled. ‘No, not yet. They’re unaware of it for now, and we’ll like to keep it that way for as long as we can. The less they know the better.’   
  
‘Then, why involve a third party? I thought you said they couldn’t object to you giving me extracurricular activities, because of Hogwarts; but if another Keeper helps…’ she trailed off, holding her hands out wide.   
  
‘Ah,’ said Albus triumphantly, ‘but Ljudmila kindly accepted my offer to become the next Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, so she can help us out in that capacity instead of in her Keeper role.’   
  
‘Well, you were rather persistent.’ Ljudmila grinned.   
  
Hermione looked stunned. Wasn’t that job practically impossible to fill for all these years, and now, he had found a replacement for Severus Snape within a week’s time? And not just any replacement, but a Keeper? Why hadn’t he asked her before, instead of saddling them up with the likes of Umbridge and Lockhart, if she was available for the job?   
  
‘Oh, you just enjoy the idea of taking a cursed position. The moment I told you of the curse on the job, you practically danced around in joy and forced me to sign your contract immediately.’ Albus grinned back at the elderly witch fondly.   
  
 _Curse? As in a real one? That wasn’t some stupid rumour?_  
  
‘Well, as I told you Albus, I’ve always wanted to try out a cursed position,’ Ljudmila sniggered. ‘And I do love a challenge, so why not start with one of Tom’s?’   
  
Dumbledore snorted.   
  
‘What!’ Hermione snapped, jumping to her feet, startling them. ‘He-he cursed the Defence position? Voldemort?’ She glared in Dumbledore’s direction furiously.   
  
‘Yes,’ he replied, watching her calmly. ‘After I turned Tom down for the job, we never were able to keep a teacher for longer than a year’s time. Things kept happening to them, bad things. It’s a bit too coincidental for it not to have been his doing.’   
  
She blinked, not wanting to believe her ears and what it all meant. ‘And you gave that job to Professor Snape, knowing that bad things happen to those who take it?’   
  
‘How do you know Severus took the position? We hadn’t made it official yet.’   
  
‘Professor Snape told me. And don’t avoid the question, did you give that job to Professor Snape knowing Voldemort cursed it, while you had him spy for you on the man?’ she asked, getting more and more angry by the minute.   
  
She’d never liked the greasy bat. His death hadn’t even upset her very much. She’d tried to be sad, because well… she felt morally obliged to feel sad, knowing he was a part of the Order and supposedly tried to help them, but she hadn’t really felt it.   
  
Snape had been cruel to her, Harry, Neville, and undoubtedly many others. It was something she was unable to forget or forgive. But this bit of new information was just–just unbelievable. You didn’t do that to people, no matter what or who they were.   
  
‘I asked Severus and he said yes.’   
  
‘Of course he said yes, everyone knows he always wanted to teach Defence, and … oh…’ she slammed her hand in front of her mouth in realisation.   
  
 _‘Superstitions and old wives’ tales.’_  
  
Snape’s voice echoed in her mind. Hermione clenched her fists when she realised what that meant. He hadn’t known about the curse and who’d cast it, or he would never have made that statement to Lord Voldemort.   
  
 _‘If you say so.’_  
  
She could still recall Voldemort’s amusement in his reply. An amusement she had felt was rather odd at the time.   
  
 _‘So, dear Albus handed you an obviously cursed position … interesting.’_  
  
And he had known Dumbledore knew. Everyone seemed to know, but the person who had the most right on the information.   
  
‘Did you tell him?’ asked Hermione softly, already knowing the answer but unable to convey that information.   
  
‘Severus knew there was an issue with the Defence position. As Potions Master, he had seen the coming and going of all those who held that job before him, and he also knew the risks involved going back to Lord Voldemort on our behalf.’   
  
‘That’s not what I asked. I asked if you told him the job he accepted was cursed by the same man you had him spy upon. But I suppose I needn’t wait for the answer. It’s pretty obvious it has to be no, otherwise you wouldn’t have to use word games and would have just said that he knew.’   
  
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, and for the first time in her life, she felt absolutely disgusted with Albus Dumbledore.   
  
‘I needed him to take the job, Hermione,’ Dumbledore replied softly. ‘If he’d known who had cursed it, he wouldn’t have taken the position, and the Ministry would have sent Dolores back. Under no circumstance could I allow that to happen.’   
  
‘Why not? You didn’t mind her torturing students the first time around,’ Hermione snapped. ‘And maybe his curse would have killed her, then.’   
  
Visuals of Miss Pink dying a horrible, painful death almost made Hermione’s anger subside, until she recalled it wasn’t going to happen.   
  
‘I didn’t plan Severus’s death, Hermione; somewhere down the line of next school year, Severus would have had to leave Hogwarts to maintain his cover with Tom. I thought it would be enough to satisfy the curse since it is set upon the teachers losing their job, not necessarily their lives.’   
  
‘Well, that wasn’t the case with Severus Snape, was it? And Quirrell didn’t make it either, so you can’t really claim ignorance,’ Hermione snarled. ‘You know, at least with Lord Voldemort, you expect the burst of green light to come for you. With you, people always have to wonder if there’s not something sticking in their backs when they exit the room. I can’t believe you had the nerve to give Professor Snape tha–’   
  
Ljudmila Volkova’s cough interrupted her.   
  
Hermione swirled around to her, her eyes ablaze.   
  
‘As much as I understand your anger, Hermione, seeing you were a witness to his death and unable to stop it,’ Ljudmila said softly, ‘but we can’t change what happened. We can only move forward and ...’ –she held up her hand to stop Hermione from responding– ‘though I can sense you’re both feeling guilty, I’d like to remind you both that neither Albus nor you killed Severus. It was Tom. Now, we are wasting precious time of the fourteen days we have to teach you compartmentalisation as a weapon, so I suggest we begin.’   
  
Her eyes went from Hermione to Albus, waiting for them to respond when suddenly…   
  
 ** _Bang!_**  
  
Draco Malfoy crashed into the Weasley coffee table. Splinters of wood flew around the room. But the blond didn’t seem to notice. He just lay there, pale as the whitest sheet, his forehead sweating, his body shivering, curled up in a ball, his arms around his legs, while a raggedy hat was pressed between his arms and legs. Something white stuck out of the hat. To Hermione’s surprise, Draco’s cheeks were wet and so was –she noted– his pants. He seemed to have peed in them.   
  
‘Mum, Mum,’ he muttered, utterly distressed.   
  
Dumbledore rushed to the boy. ‘Draco, Draco,’ he called out, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, worried.   
  
Draco screamed when he touched him, and Dumbledore withdrew his hand in a hurry. Ljudmila whipped her wand around and a bright circle ran around the Slytherin’s body. It turned a light shade of purple.   
  
‘Stage Three Legilimency and Cruciatus,’ Ljudmila diagnosed matter-of-factly.   
  
‘I need to know how long to undo any damage on time,’ Dumbledore said, flashing his wand at the shivering, mumbling Draco to clean him up and make him more comfortable. A pillow and a mattress appeared underneath him and a blanket covered him up.   
  
‘Less than half a minute on the Cruciatus, and there is no physical damage, or the circle would have been darker.’   
  
‘Draco, I need you to say something,’ Dumbledore ordered, kneeling down to get at eye level with him.   
  
‘You can’t get brain damage from that short a period, Albus, not even with the prior Legilimency assault on his mind.’   
  
‘I know, Ljudmila. He seems to be in a state of shock.’   
  
‘Mum, Mum,’ was all Draco said.   
  
‘Did he do something to your mother, Draco?’ Dumbledore asked, concerned. ‘Draco, please talk to us.’   
  
But there was no coherent response.   
  
‘There is a note,’ Hermione said business-like, pointing to the hat. She hadn’t moved an inch since Draco had dropped in. She just stared at the situation, taking it in with a cold detachment.   
  
Dumbledore pulled it out immediately and unfolded it. His eyes went rapidly over the written words.   
  
 _Albus,  
  
For Malfoy’s sake, I hope this is incentive enough for you to start doing your job. You may enjoy the notion that I have to keep Obliviating my followers over your apprentice, but I am not amused. From hereon, I’ll be checking Draco Malfoy’s abilities to Occlude his mind personally, and rest assured, I’ll up the ante on his punishment every single time he fails my tests.   
  
With regards,   
  
Lord Voldemort _  
  
Dumbledore cursed and held out the note to Ljudmila, who went over it quickly with a frown on her face.   
  
‘Draco, you’re alright now. You’re safe,’ Dumbledore said soothingly. ‘You don’t have to go back. We can protect you.’   
  
‘Mum.’   
  
‘Is Narcissa at home?’   
  
Draco nodded, rubbing his tears away with his sleeve, while sniffing up his nose.   
  
‘Is she alright?’   
  
Draco nodded again. ‘She-she wasn’t there when he did it. I–I couldn’t Occlude my mind from Aunt Bella when she tried to teach me Occlumency. He was furious.’   
  
‘You need to allow me to teach you, Draco. Your aunt … Bellatrix Lestrange’s talents do not lie in this field.’   
  
‘I can’t,’ Draco sobbed.   
  
‘If you are afraid of what I will find in your mind, Draco, then I should tell you that I already know he ordered you to kill me, if that’s why you don’t want me to teach you Occlumency.’   
  
 _What?_  
  
Hermione mentally snorted. Lord Voldemort had ordered Draco Malfoy to kill Albus Dumbledore? What on earth had the Malfoys done to piss him off enough to make him send their only child on a suicide mission? For any Malfoy to be able to kill Albus Dumbledore, it was preposterous, unless, of course, hell froze over. She bit her lip to not start laughing. Oh boy, had ferret-face got himself into an impossible situation.   
  
Draco had frozen up at Dumbledore’s admission. He stared at the wizard in confusion. ‘But-but…’   
  
‘If you want out, Draco, this is your chance,’ Dumbledore said calmly.   
  
‘My mum. He’ll kill her.’   
  
‘The Order can–’   
  
‘No, no, I can’t make that decision. I have to talk to her first.’   
  
‘You’re not going back there,’ Dumbledore said resolutely. ‘Ljudmila, do you still have that cottage you held Mel in when he was your apprentice?’   
  
Ljudmila nodded silently.   
  
‘Mind if I use it?’   
  
‘Albus,’ Ljudmila said, gesturing with her head to the side.   
  
They both walked to the far wall. Hermione tried, but to her sincere annoyance, she couldn’t pick up a word of what they said. Dumbledore’s Muffling Charm worked too perfectly. She looked back down at Draco Malfoy, who still clutched to the blanket as if it would protect him from all the horrors in the world, and she noticed he pointedly avoided looking in her direction.   
  
 _Less than half a minute of the curse and this was what he was reduced to? Wimp._  
  
‘I am not sure this is a good idea,’ Volkova said quietly.   
  
‘Look at the boy, Ljudmila. Even if he allows me to teach him Occlumency now, I can’t teach him overnight, and his mind will crack if it happens again.’   
  
‘The boy’s mother…’ She shook her head, concerned.   
  
‘We can protect her.’   
  
‘But how are you going to get to her? And don’t tell me Tom won’t be expecting you to try because we know he will be, especially after that stunt you pulled with Gellert earlier. Besides, I can’t Apparate through his wards and neither can you. And what if she doesn’t want to be placed under your protection? They did choose to follow him. As Draco’s guide, you can detain him for a while and he should be safe once he’s at Hogwarts, but his mother is not covered under council rules. If you can’t be sure she wants out, you need a different strategy to deal with this.’   
  
‘I believe Narcissa would do anything to protect her son.’   
  
‘Okay, so say she wants out. You still can’t get to her now.’   
  
Dumbledore glanced at Hermione. ‘That pendant will get through his wards.’   
  
Ljudmila grabbed his arm before he could step away. ‘Yes, the pendant and the one wearing it. The person foolish enough to try to do a Side-Along Apparition with her will undoubtedly go up in flames.’   
  
‘Dammit, Ljudmila, he will destroy that boy. I need to get him out now. Severus is no longer there to protect Draco or his mother,’ Dumbledore said furiously, clenching his fists.   
  
‘If you keep Draco away from Tom, he will destroy him by taking it out on his mother. You know this, Albus, and so does the boy. He will not thank you for protecting him if he loses her. You need to stop and think for a second before doing something rash. You’re not sixteen anymore.’   
  
The memory of his rash actions during his youth made Dumbledore unclench his fists. Contemplating his options, he stared into Ljudmila’s comforting eyes. Finally, he said, ‘I need Gellert.’   
  
‘You think he will help now that he has other options again?’   
  
‘He’s not Tom’s biggest fan.’   
  
‘He picked him.’   
  
‘And don’t think he hasn’t been regretting it ever since.’   
  
Ljudmila rubbed her hand over her chin thoughtfully. ‘Fine, you take Draco Malfoy to the cottage.’   
  
She ruffled through her robes and pulled out a black leather roll. She opened the clasp and it unrolled, showing of a multitude of different colour keys. Two of them, she picked out and handed them to Albus.   
  
‘Orange first or you’ll be incinerated,’ she warned. ‘I’ll be there with Gellert as soon as I can  _if_  … he decides to help you out.’   
  
She twirled on the spot and Disapparated.   
  
Dumbledore swirled around. ‘I am sorry, Hermione,’ he apologised, walking to Draco, while drawing his wand. ‘We will have to reschedule your lesson for tomorrow.’   
  
‘I understand,’ she said, faking calmness.  _Come on and rejoice at the top of your voice._  
  
Hermione glanced at the show in front of her with a blank expression on her face, as Dumbledore picked up the now struggling and protesting Draco. The last thing Hermione heard was Draco calling for his mummy before Dumbledore Disapparated them both.   
  
 _That obnoxious ferret would do wise to stay out of my way once Hogwarts starts or I will twitter and tweet him,_  she thought, gritting her teeth.  _Oh yeah, this is the season to sing._  
  
She whipped out her wand and undid the damage to Molly’s table and cabinet. When she wanted to lower the Silencing Charm Dumbledore had placed around the living room when they entered, she noticed it was already gone. She raised an eyebrow, irritated she had missed him doing so. Turning on her heels, Hermione left. She was just in time for dinner.   
  
Of course, after dinner, she’d been badgered to death to join the others in their Quidditch match, but she wasn’t in the mood. She sucked at flying anyway, never daring to go too high, and she still had loads and loads of research to do.   
  
Mumbling disappointedly about not having even teams, Harry, Ron, and Ginny kept harassing her, until Fleur offered to take Hermione’s place. Ginny’s face had been priceless. Hermione was sure the redhead was sorry they played without Beaters, because it seemed Ginny would gladly launch every Bludger available at Phlegm.   
  
But Phlegm had saved her from a Quidditch-filled evening, so Hermione wasn’t that irritated with Bill’s girlfriend anymore. She waved them all out with a teasing smile on her face (for Ginny’s benefit), and she turned to go up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley held her up though, trying to heal her black eye fruitlessly, before insisting she take a tray filled with cookies, a glass, and a bottle of cold lemonade with her as some kind of repayment for being unable to fix her eye. Knowing it would be pointless to explain she wasn’t hungry, because she just had dinner, and realising the lemonade would save her a trip downstairs later, she accepted it and brought it to Ginny’s room before going up to the second floor to get the Divination books.   
  
Back in Fred and George’s room, she grabbed the Divination books and her note on the prophecy. In the distance, outside, she heard two voices shout something about foul play and saw a little Snitch dance briefly around her head before it went back out the window. She glanced outside and saw Ron bungling upside down on his broom, hanging on one leg mowing his arms around, while Ginny chased past him with the Quaffle. After scoring, Ginny flew in circles around Ron howling like crazy before she gave Harry a high-five in mid-flight. Fleur was regaining the Quaffle from the ground, hurriedly.   
  
Hermione sniggered, wishing Colin was here with his camera, before she walked to Ginny’s bedroom and dumped the books on the extra bed Molly had already shoved in there. She turned on the Tiffany lamp at the ceiling since Ginny’s room was rather dark, due to her window being covered by a giant oak tree. Her trunk stood underneath the bed, and she pulled it out, picking out the Dark Arts books. She tried to check their indexes for anything related to Divination, but the lamp at the ceiling gave off too much coloured light.   
  
Thankful for Molly’s consideration, she pulled on the cord on the additional lamp on the nightstand next to her bed. She positioned herself against the wall with a couple of pillows behind her back and began reading, not noticing the time, until Ginny entered with two steaming mugs in her hands, her cheeks still flushed from flying.   
  
‘Here, Mum thought you’d like a cup of hot cocoa before going to sleep, too.’   
  
Hermione accepted the large mug thankfully, while Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her literature.   
  
‘Enchanted Encounters? No wonder you didn’t want to fly. He held her in his strong arms,’ she exclaimed overly dramatic. ‘Her heaving bosom–’   
  
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hermione interrupted with a smile. ‘Make fun of me. I happen to like an occasional break from my studies. They help me clear my mind because you don’t have to think while reading them.’   
  
‘No kidding,’ Ginny replied ironically, taking a cookie off the tray. ‘But eh… whatever helps you solve things. Don’t let Mum see you have them, though, or you’ll never get them back.’   
  
‘I’ll keep them hidden.  _Mobile books!’_  Hermione swooshed her wand around and all her books flew into her trunk before it slammed shut.  _‘Claudere!’_  she pointed at the trunk.   
  
Her trunk clicked, and then, the seam between the lid and the rest of the trunk fused together.   
  
‘Oh wow, what kind of spell is that?’ Ginny asked, interested.   
  
‘A Sticking Curse,’ Hermione explained. ‘You can put everything together indefinitely and it will never let go, unless you  _and only you_ cast the counter-curse.’   
  
‘Neat,’ Ginny said, sitting down on her bed and taking another sip from her cocoa. ‘Can you teach me?’   
  
‘Sure, first thing tomorrow?’   
  
‘Okay.’   
  
They both got ready for bed after finishing their drinks, and soon, Ginny was far away in dreamland, but Hermione still stared at the ceiling. Her mind was too busy with all kinds of disturbing thoughts for her to fall asleep.   
  
And she also twisted and turned in this bed her body wasn’t yet used to. There was an irritating bump in the mattress that she seemed to be unable to shake no matter what she did. Hearing Ginny snore was another thing not conducing with her attempts to fall asleep. She moved to her right side and cast a Silencing Charm on her environment. Wrapping her blankets tighter around her body, she finally drifted off.   
  
Nobody was there to notice that the moment her mind entered the REM-stage of sleep, the pendant underneath her pyjamas started glowing ever so softly.   
  
Dressed in her periwinkle-blue robes, Hermione searched the dance floor. Everyone danced, but she seemed to have misplaced her partner. Someone tall with familiar black hair became briefly visible between two dancing couples, and she narrowed her eyes and frowned. But when the couples had moved along, he was gone. Moving through the waltzing dancers, she searched for him again. Behind her, a pair of dark eyes glittered dangerously in the light of the Christmas lanterns dangling from the frosty ceiling of the Great Hall.   
  
Wasn’t she supposed to be here with Viktor? Viktor didn’t have that kind of hair.   
  
Something was very wrong, very wrong indeed. She tried to shake that dreadful gut feeling, but was unable to. Something dark whirled around the Great Hall tonight. She could feel it, taste it, smell it, and almost, almost touch it. It was close. It was nearing her, trying to surround her, draw her in. She had to get away before it was too late. They all had to get away before it was too late.   
  
Darkness tugged on her arm and twirled her around. She felt the seduction of the knowledge, the power, the lust, and the freedom of not caring about responsibilities and outcomes and merely do as you please. It was all there in those dark, pitch-black eyes of his, that mesmerising, feral, intense, domineering gaze, which made her shiver in wantonness.   
  
‘Searching for someone in particular?’ Tom drawled, grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against his lean body before waltzing away.   
  
‘Not you again,’ Hermione hissed, trying to shove those primal emotions back deep into the well they should be in.   
  
‘Aww…,’ he said, faking disappointment, which was completely ruined by the mocking glint in his eyes when he looked down at her. ‘And here I thought you’d already established Krum was useless in that department.’  
  
Embarrassed, she looked away.   
  
Tom chuckled. ‘I knew I was right,’ he added smugly. ‘I am a much better catch, ain’t I?’   
  
 _The arrogance of that man was just unbelievable._  
  
She turned her head to face him and tell him exactly what kind of a catch he was when he winked at her. He winked! The nerve he had.   
  
 _It looked very cute on him though._  
  
Deciding to ignore his teasing deductions and the part of herself that agreed with him, she asked snappishly, ‘What are you doing here?’   
  
He tilted his head and smirked. ‘You tell me, dear.’   
  
‘That Nightmare Curse is supposed to be over.’   
  
‘Ah yes, of course it is, but your path isn’t,’ Tom replied cryptically, avoiding a collision with Madam Maxime and Albus Dumbledore effortlessly.   
  
For a second, Hermione watched those two, but they seemed not to notice her tiny, insignificant Tom Riddle problem; so, she sighed. ‘Why don’t they see you?’   
  
‘I don’t want to be seen.’   
  
‘Great idea. Make that work on me, too.’   
  
He sniggered. ‘By everyone,’ he added tauntingly. ‘Besides, you  ** _want_**  to see me.’   
  
He angled his upper body a bit away from her and gestured with their joined hands at his impeccable appearance.   
  
His neatly-styled black hair gained an almost blue glow every time they moved underneath one of the lanterns. For a second, she witnessed that his eyes were not black but a very dark brown colour, but out of direct lighting that was impossible to see. His flawless, pale, white skin made them seem blacker than they were in reality. Those eyes with their (to be envious of) long, double-rowed eyelashes and accentuated by his well-arched dark eyebrows, those eyes drew you in, to never let go.   
  
But she forced herself to move on after a brief hesitation, lingering on his lips before gazing from his fine sculptured jaw-line to his torso. Black silk dress robes whirled around his sinewy frame as they waltzed on, but her eyes happened to get stuck on the slightly askew emerald tie, which hung loosely over his not entirely buttoned up white shirt. It was the only thing on him not done to perfection, and somehow, she couldn’t stop herself from being annoyed at all those buttons which were still closed. She really wanted to grab a hold of that shirt and rip it open.   
  
A deep red blush appeared on her cheeks when the things she wanted to do to him entered her mind, and she looked studiously away over his right arm, missing the smug smirk on his face, while he pulled her closer. With her hips pressed against him, they seemed to float over the floor, never hitting or disturbing another couple. Her heart was racing, and she felt an undeniable need rise inside of her. Desperately, Hermione looked around the dance floor, contemplating her options on how the hell to get her attention away from her more basic instincts.   
  
‘So, if this is about my stupid path, where are the crazy animals?’ she asked, looking back in those dangerously sensual eyes.   
  
‘Hiding outside in the bushes?’ he suggested with an upward curl of his lip.   
  
‘Or did you kill them?’ she retorted, tilting her head with a fake, overly sweet smile.   
  
He sniggered. ‘Now there’s a thought. Why didn’t I think of that?’ he asked himself humorously, before dipping her.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened and she tightened her grip on his arm when her head nearly touched the floor.   
  
‘Afraid I am going to drop you?’   
  
‘Concerned my dinner will come up,’ she sassed, before he swirled her back up and waltzed on. ‘Why are we dancing anyway?’   
  
‘Because  ** _I_**  can lead,’ was the arrogant answer.   
  
Hermione groaned, closed her eyes, and hit her forehead against his shoulder repeatedly, not noticing the lanterns dimmed. His hand came to rest on the back of her head, and he pressed her head against his chest sideways. She stopped breathing, while he’d stopped moving. In the back of her mind, she registered The Weird Sisters had quit their song and had started a slow ballad, a too slow ballad.   
  
And he held her too close, far too close. His arms locked tightly around her lower back and her head. There wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies, and she could feel every perfect line of his, as he undoubtedly could feel hers. Her heart pounded in her chest; blood rushed through her veins; her breaths came out in ragged rasps; her world swirled, twisted and morphed, literally turning upside down in seconds.   
  
She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of things. She had to make sense of things. She wetted her lips; her mouth felt so dry. Scared, she suddenly felt more frightened than ever before in her life.   
  
Gently, he rested his chin on her head and squeezed her briefly. Safety, there was safety in his arms. He pushed her fear away magically. His power rushed through her, exciting and exhilarating, touching every nerve, every cell, every single part of her, until she shuddered in his arms. His low chuckle wrapped around her like a blanket, stirring thoughts and emotions she tried to suppress, dark ones. And she recalled who held her, who made her feel this way, who was trying to manipulate her.   
  
Her dark power exploded with a vengeance. Her robes and hair whirled in its wind, and her brown eyes sparkled with joy and satisfaction as she watched how Tom Marvolo Riddle got blasted through the Great Hall and crashed into the sparkling wall. But he wasn’t the only one who got struck by her power; everyone and everything else got hit as well. Dancers, tables, chairs, the band, everything disintegrated to dust in milliseconds.   
  
Everything and everyone was gone, except for him. Tom merely scrambled back on his feet, brushing the dust of his clothes before smirking absolutely satisfied in her direction. She let out a furious howl. The windows blew, glass shattered, and screams echoed in her mind.   
  
With a start, she sat up straight in her bed, her hair still ablaze. Ginny had taken cover underneath her blanket from the glass that had flown around the room violently. The window of the bedroom was completely gone, as were the water glasses on their nightstands, several lightbulbs, the Tiffany lamp on the ceiling, and the vase on the windowsill.   
  
Shocked, Hermione looked around; nothing made of glass had survived. She heard Molly’s fearful yells resonate through the house, trying to ascertain if everyone was alright, making Hermione dreadfully aware the destruction hadn’t been contained to Ginny’s bedroom.   
  
And in the distance, she swore she could hear a cold, high-pitched laugh.   
  
-   
  
- 


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**  
  
Quietly, she sat at the kitchen table, sipping hot coffee from a mug all by her lonesome self. The Burrow was in complete disarray and everyone ran around like headless chickens. Hermione had hoped Professor Dumbledore would have arrived by now to stop this crazy hullabaloo, but he hadn’t.   
  
 _Probably too busy changing someone’s nappies._  
  
She rolled her eyes at recalling Malfoy’s sorry state.  
  
However, Dumbledore’s continued absence had not inspired everyone else to take the situation lightly. Other Order members had arrived, in multitude. Alastor Moody was outside, cursing every suspicious looking rock into oblivion, while Kingsley checked Dumbledore’s and the Ministerial Wards. Tonks and Remus were busy slowly repairing all the broken glass upstairs. For some reason they had to take it one item at the time, otherwise everything fell into a million pieces again. However, the supposedly magically indestructible windows were beyond their capabilities to fix and they let them be. Arthur, Bill, and a couple of others she didn’t know were outside guarding the perimeter of the Burrow. Upstairs, Molly on the other hand hovered over those she felt needed the most attention.   
  
‘I am fine,’ Hermione heard Harry’s voice object loudly. ‘There is nothing wrong with me.’  
  
‘I’ve got to look at your wounds,’ Molly replied, concerned. Though Mrs. Weasley’s voice didn’t reach Harry’s volume, she could still hear it clearly all the way down in the kitchen. ‘Ginny, get me some towels to press against–’  
  
‘It’s just a scratch on my hand,’ Harry interrupted, annoyed. ‘Ron is hurt far worse.’  
  
‘I theenk Ronald ees going to be alright,’ Fleur’s voice chimed in like little bells. ‘I have nearly healed hees chest.’ And she continued chanting in a sing-song voice.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, trying to block out the voices. It was hard, considering what had just happened – what she had done. Normally she wouldn’t have listened to Mrs. Weasley telling her to vacate the room when her best friends were hurt. She would have remained as Ginny had done, but Ron’s blood-soaked pyjama shirt had made her feel light-headed and nauseous. She had rushed to the bathroom and emptied her stomach in the loo. Tonks had helped keep her hair out of the way, making her feel even guiltier, because in her opinion  _she_  didn’t deserve any assistance. She’d caused this. She was to blame. When she’d got back to Harry’s room, her complexion had been green enough to be mistaken for Kermit the frog. Mrs. Weasley had forcefully shoved her out, telling Tonks to take Hermione downstairs for some much needed Anti-Vomiting Potion. It had helped splendidly. Right now, she felt much better, good enough to question the craziness of the Order and be annoyed with their antics.   
  
 _Really, if Lord Voldemort had truly arrived here, I doubt he’d play hide and seek._  
  
She snorted into her coffee.  
  
A green flash, a stumbling noise, and coughs came from the living room. She glanced in the direction of the open door to the hallway when a second green flash blinded her eyesight briefly. A crash sounded. A cloud of dust and ashes blew into the hallway. Tumbling noises and grunts indicated that two bodies plummeted to the floor.   
  
‘Fred.’  
  
‘George.’  
  
Hermione sniggered at hearing the humorously delivered introductions coming from the other room, as if they were in need to get further acquainted.  
  
Mere moments later, George added dryly, ‘Glad you could Floo in so quickly behind me.’  
  
‘Glad to be here, but I do prefer Angelina to lie on top of me,’ Fred countered, amused.  
  
‘That’s a very hurtful thing to say, Fred. I was just concerned for your safety; see how my body is conveniently blocking all those incoming Dark Arts curses?’  
  
‘It’s also blocking my ability to ever procreate.’  
  
‘Oh, sorry ’bout that, wasn’t planning to put my knee there.’  
  
Hermione smirked and bore witness to some groans followed by a lot more snarky comments, while the twins obviously got to their feet and dusted off their clothes.   
  
‘Nice little breeze in here, I always knew this room would benefit from an opened window during the summer.’   
  
‘Eh, Hermione,’ it sounded cheerfully in tandem when they came walking around the corner.   
  
‘Hi,’ she replied, watching them glance at her mug and her comfortable seating posture before eyeing each other.  
  
‘That must be some emergency, Fred.’  
  
‘Looks like it, George. Aren’t you happy now we woke in the middle of the night for this?’   
  
They both turned their heads back to her abruptly. ‘Got any more coffee?’  
  
‘In the pot,’ she pointed casually.   
  
Fred sat down at the table, while George opened the top cabinet above the sink. A waterfall of glass pieces tumbled down on top of his head.   
  
‘It’s coffee, George, not Firewhiskey. We won’t need any glasses,’ Fred observed dryly.   
  
‘Good thing; Mum seems to be all out,’ George replied, pulling two ceramic mugs out of the cabinet, while ignoring the glass fragments lingering in his hair like a tiara and twinkling whenever the light of the candles on the table hit it.   
  
Fred pointed his wand at the coffee container. It hovered into the air following the mugs around and filling them rapidly with steaming hot coffee, while George walked to the table and sat down beside him. Simultaneously both of them wrapped their hands around their respective mugs and began sipping, looking questioningly at Hermione.   
  
‘What happened to your eye?’  
  
She scowled at George. ‘Your punching telescope.’  
  
He sniggered.  
  
‘Oh, blimey,’ Fred responded, ruffling through his pockets. ‘I forgot about those. Here –’   
  
He’d located what he was searching for and pulled it out of his pocket before holding out the tub to her. Hermione glanced at it suspiciously before taking it from him and unscrewing the lid. There was a thick yellow paste inside.   
  
‘If you dab it on, the bruise will be gone in an hour,’ he explained. ‘We had to find a decent bruise-remover; we do test most of our products ourselves.’  
  
‘Is this safe?’   
  
Her eyes flickered between them in suspicion. She’d not forgotten about their Canary Creams, Fainting Fancies, Puking Pastilles, and other items that did things you would not expect them to do.  
  
‘Course it is,’ Fred replied. ‘If you want proof, I can put some on myself if that’ll make you feel better?’   
  
She looked at him quietly, weighing his words. He seemed sincere enough to her liking. ‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ she said, dabbing the thick paste on her eyelid. It felt soothingly cold to put it on and there was no more doubt in her mind the paste would really work. She could almost sense it.  
  
‘What happened here?’ George asked, pointing to the broken window and turning his attention back on the issue he’d Floo-ed in for.   
  
‘The windows suddenly broke. They don’t know who, how, what, or why, but they’re looking into it,’ she explained.   
  
‘No Death Eaters?’  
  
She shook her head.   
  
‘Giant snakes, Inferi, Dementors, Malfoys?’ George almost sounded hopefully, while he wiggled his wand through the air deviously.  
  
‘No, no, no, and …’ she looked up thoughtfully, like she really had to think about it, ‘no.’  
  
‘Any creepy individuals with red eyes, then?’  
  
Hermione snorted. ‘Nope.’  
  
‘Sure you didn’t miss it?’  
  
‘Maybe she slept through it all,’ George suggested humorously.  
  
‘Or …’ Fred paused, narrowing his eyes distrustfully to Hermione, ‘she is not Hermione, but a Death Eater in disguise.’  
  
The Death Eater in disguise rolled her eyes, while George looked overly panicky around the kitchen. ‘That must be it, Fred,’ and he waved his wand to Hermione theatrically. ‘Identify yourself, villain.’  
  
‘Sure, I am a villain,’ she muttered, taking another sip of her coffee. ‘We all know Death Eaters want nothing more than to chitchat with you two, because  _you_  are  _soooo_ important.’  
  
‘ _Oooow_ , hurtful comment.’ George clutched to his chest with both hands. ‘The real Hermione,’ he emphasised, waddling his finger at her, ‘would never say something this mean to us.’  
  
‘Your wand, bro,’ Fred reprimanded when George forgot to keep it pointed at her.   
  
He immediately corrected the error. ‘How will we figure out if this really is Hermione?’   
  
‘Easy,’ Fred said offhandedly before leaning forward on the table. ‘What is on page 351 of “Hogwarts, a History”?’  
  
‘Good one.’  
  
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. ‘No idea,’ she lied, smirking as her eyes fell on their mugs deliberately. ‘However, in “Confronting the Faceless” it says on that same page that one should be suspicious of beverages offered to you by possible dark witches.’  
  
Their eyes widened and both of them glanced at their half-empty mugs in mock fear.   
  
‘Something,’ she reprimanded tauntingly, ‘you might have known had you finished your education properly.’  
  
Fred let out a relieved sigh. ‘It’s Hermione.’  
  
‘Yep,’ George agreed, lowering his wand. ‘Only Hermione would take the time to inform us about the disadvantages of an abandoned education on a night like this.’  
  
‘What will we do without our N.E.W.T.’s?’  
  
‘Face it, Fred. We’re lowly dropouts with no possible future ahead but misery and despair.’  
  
Hermione groaned and got two teasing smiles back. They were obviously enjoying themselves far too much as they took another sip simultaneously of their coffee.   
  
‘So no You-Know-Who,’ George said, sounding mighty disappointed.   
  
‘There is still a chance she forgot,’ Fred suggested.   
  
‘I think I would remember him being here,’ she assured them. ‘He is hard to miss.’  
  
George nodded, agreeing with that.   
  
‘Gee George, you woke me for this?’ Fred gestured around. ‘You do know we’ve an early start at the shop with the freight from Peru arriving.’  
  
‘The message I got was that there was some emergency,’ George said apologetically.   
  
They both looked around the peaceful area, bemused. Another small explosion outside, followed by Moody muttering under his breath about dangerous dark wizards posing as innocent objects, was all that disturbed the rest. None of the inhabitants of the kitchen responded to his casting.  
  
Fred shrugged. ‘Maybe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took up interior decorating?’  
  
George sniggered. ‘We should put that on a flyer at the shop. Want your house refur-?’  
  
Sudden rapid footsteps down the stairs made him halt his speech, while Fred flicked out his wand, jumped to his feet, and acted out an overly defensive stance. Harry swirled in, halting in the doorway when he saw the twins.  
  
‘It’s Potter!’ George cheered, raising both hands in victory.   
  
‘Our saviour is still alive!’ Fred called out, relieved, and he grabbed a hold of the now protesting Harry and swirled him around in exaggerated joy.  
  
‘Did You-Know-Who miss you again, Harry?’ George added; he had stood up and was now patting Harry on his back supportingly. ‘Was it a fearsome, heroic battle?’  
  
‘Of course it was,’ Fred replied before Harry could speak up. ‘And look how he doesn’t have a single scratch on him,’ he added approvingly, stepping back and gesturing up and down Harry’s body.  
  
‘Well, he is a true hero,’ George explained lightly.  
  
‘The Chosen One,’ they both said in unison, bowing down reverently. ‘He arrived on this planet to serve and protect our innocent, fragile bodies.’  
  
Harry and Hermione snorted together at “innocent”.  
  
Fred and George grabbed their chests, appalled and shocked. ‘They do not consider us worthy, Fred.’  
  
‘After everything we’ve done for them last year,’ Fred said recentfully.   
  
‘A portable swamp.’  
  
‘Fireworks, everywhere, all the time.’  
  
‘The breaking of every Educational Decree in existence. Quite a feat, if I do say so myself.’  
  
‘I totally agree, George.’  
  
‘The mayhem and trouble we caused to assist those students …’ they gazed pointedly at Harry and Hermione, ‘needing necessary distractions before we flew of into the sunset …’  
  
‘Then, we rushed here in the middle of the night to save them from … ermm…’ George’s hand waved around the empty kitchen, ‘impending doom and destruction by all those invisible wizarding foes attempting to kill them right now.’  
  
‘Yes, and what do we get in return? They abandon us in our hour of need.’  
  
‘It’s a sad, harsh world we live in, Fred, but I’ll be there for you,’ George said comforting, holding his arms wide.  
  
‘Oh brother!’ Fred exclaimed, stretching out his arms, too.   
  
They fell into each others arms, making loud sobbing noises, when Mrs. Weasley’s voice thundered down the stairs, freezing them up in their acting display.   
  
‘You two, why are you standing around there? People could get hurt, needing assistance when you’re mocking about. Go help your father outside, NOW!’  
  
‘Needing assistance … against whom?’ Fred whispered to George as they made their way out quickly to avoid another scolding from their mother.  
  
‘Maybe Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?’ George grinned, as the door to the garden fell shut behind them.   
  
Hermione smiled a bit sheepishly to Harry after they’d left. ‘Are you all right?’  
  
‘Of course I am,’ he grunted, taking the chair next to her. ‘I didn’t get hit. I only cut myself when I removed some pieces of glass off Ron.’  
  
‘And … Ron?’ she asked, dreading the answer, still feeling extremely guilty about it.   
  
‘He’s going to be fine. Fleur’s almost done healing him.’   
  
She let out a relieved sigh.   
  
Harry looked around, checking if the kitchen was clear, before he lowered his voice and leaned in to Hermione.   
  
‘He probably doesn’t want his family to know, but he got hurt before the glass flew around.’   
  
She raised her eyebrows at hearing that.   
  
‘He was on his way back to his bedroom when he tripped on one of the boxes and collapsed on the ugly, standing lamp,’ Harry continued. ‘It pierced his chest, and then, he crashed down on the glass side table Mrs. Weasley got from Fleur and put in the twins’ room for “safe keeping.”’   
  
‘He fell on the lamp and then the table, how did he manage that?’ Hermione asked, bemused.   
  
Harry shrugged. ‘Great aim, I suppose.’  
  
She giggled. If Harry was so casual about it, she was certain Ron was going to be just fine. He wouldn’t have come down earlier anyway.   
  
‘The box, the lamp and the table?’  
  
‘Yes, all those, but don’t tell anyone. Fleur thought he was a true hero, he was absolutely delighted and this red,’ –Harry pointed to a tomato in the bowl on the table– ‘in his face when she was busy healing him and went on and on and on how brave he had been.’  
  
Hermoine snorted. ‘My lips are sealed,’ she said, amused.   
  
‘Although his secret might come out when the others finally realise we were never under attack in the first place.’   
  
‘What makes you say that?’ Hermione asked, surprised and slightly alarmed.  
  
Harry sent her a look. ‘Breaking a bunch of windows and then leaving? Yeah, sounds like their M.O.,’ he snorted. ‘This,’ –he pointed at the Order members casting outside– ‘is ridiculous.’  
  
‘They’re just concerned, because they think the wards got compromised.’  
  
‘This wasn’t Voldemort,’ Harry said certainly, his jaw set.  
  
‘Oh,’ she replied, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.   
  
Though Harry didn’t notice that, he got a bit irritated, thinking she also disagreed with him. ‘You don’t believe me?’  
  
‘No, I agree with you,’ she said quickly, seeing his annoyance. ‘If it was them, they would be all over this place.’  
  
‘Exactly, it’s what I told Moody and the others, but nobody will listen to me. Besides, it didn’t feel like Voldemort. It felt …’ Harry paused, furrowing his brow, ‘like that other time.’  
  
Confused, Hermione looked at him. She hadn’t broken any windows before and she’d only been at the Burrow for a day.   
  
‘What other time?’   
  
‘When everything turned dark … Of course, I did feel him then, at the end of it. He was very happy about having gained power, but–’   
  
‘Gained power?’ she snapped, now really alarmed. ‘What do you mean?’  
  
‘I don’t know precisely,’ Harry replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘He blocked me out when he noticed I was there. I tried recalling what happened before that, but everything went so fast and it was such a chaos, I can’t.’ He looked at her a bit hopelessly. ‘Hermione, when he duelled Professor Dumbledore at the Ministry … You didn’t see him cast. If … if he gained even more power, I–I won’t stand a–’  
  
She didn’t let Harry finish his sentence but rushed out of her chair and pulled him in her arms, hugging him to her.   
  
‘You’re not in this alone, Harry.’ She drew back looking him straight into his familiar green eyes, her hands on his shoulders. ‘I’ll help you.’ She took a deep breath, having reached the ridiculously risky decision of investigating this matter further. ‘So you say he was happy about gaining power and you can’t recall exactly why or how?’  
  
‘Yes, I’ve tried to remember, but it’s a blur; so much happened that day. Ron and I tried to put the pieces together. It was useless.’  
  
‘Where were you when it happened?’  
  
‘Right here, in the kitchen …’ he hesitated. ‘Well, we were outside first, but I didn’t feel Voldemort then. My scar didn’t start hurting, until after I got inside.’   
  
‘Okay, inside it is,’ Hermione said, looking around thoughtfully, ‘let’s go through what you did and see if that helps trigger the memory better. Where were you standing exactly?’  
  
Harry moved to his previous position. ‘I stood here and everything was dark.’  
  
Hermione flicked her wand at the candles on the table. The kitchen blackened completely, occasionally lit by the flashes of the castings going on outside and the light that came from the hallway. Another flick of her wand and the door flew shut with a bang. Next, curtains flew in front of the windows, darkening the area completely.   
  
‘How is that?’ she enquired.  
  
‘Ermm … similar. Except Remus was holding some blue bell flames in his hand,’ Harry recalled.   
  
Her wand swooshed, causing a blue bell flame to appear in her hand.   
  
‘Too bright,’ Harry said, furrowing his brow as he thought hard.  
  
She dimmed it slightly and watched him somewhat apprehensively. Had he seen her? She couldn’t believe she hadn’t at least once considered that Harry had this little window to Voldemort’s mind after everything that had happened last school year. Well, sure,  _He_ couldn’t risk exposing her. Still, that she hadn’t thought about it disturbed her greatly. She should have, she really should have. Careless, she’d been careless not to think about it, and now, she might have to Obliviate her best friend because of it. But she sure as hell wasn’t doing that, she’d have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about it – he could fix it if it needed fixing. She wasn’t messing with Harry’s mind. Was this what being a Keeper meant? That you had to lie and curse your friends and loved ones? It wasn’t something that appealed to her much.   
  
‘Hermione?’  
  
‘Oh sorry,’ she apologised to Harry who looked at her curiously. ‘I was thinking.’  
  
‘Yeah,’ he muttered grimly. ‘Me too, and it’s not coming back to me.’  
  
But she needed to know. She needed to know what this was about  _him_  gaining power. Was that connected to her? Harry had to give her more than this.  
  
‘You always clutch to your forehead in pain when it happens,’ she recalled, helpfully. ‘Try redoing all your moves.’  
  
Harry pressed his hands back to his forehead and bent over slightly.   
  
‘People were screaming my name, frightened, while I was thinking I should be more careful what I wished for.’ He paused. ‘It was dark in my head. I didn’t see Remus’s flames anymore.’ He closed his eyes, following her advice in trying to create similar circumstances.  
  
‘Harry!’ Hermione shouted fearfully in hopes of triggering something by repeating what others had done.  
  
‘Someone is in my arms,’ he called out, excited from behind his hunched over form. ‘A woman, definitely female, and … I feel her power returning to me. So much power, more than I ever possessed before,’ Harry muttered. ‘It made me exhilarated, overjoyed. It was all mine for the taking. All that power at my disposal. It struck me. For a moment I held it all, then I released it back to her, and light blinded my eyes. I closed them and became aware of the existing link. It must have opened during my recollection of the magic. No peeking, Potter,’ Harry recalled, rising up and watching Hermione triumphantly.   
  
‘Then, I hit a blind wall and was back here,’ he ended happily, realising how much he missed having her around. Her ideas and actions were what made all this information resurface from the depths of his mind. He hadn’t been able to touch even a fraction of it together with Ron. ‘You’re brilliant, Hermione, just brilliant.’  
  
She felt sick, not brilliant at all. Absentmindedly, she flicked her wand at the curtains and lit the candles again. It had been about her. How was that possible? What had she missed? The door flung open, showing a proud, fully-healed Ron first. Behind him, the rest of the group from upstairs became visible in the hallway. Everyone had put on their normal clothes instead of their pyjamas and nightgowns. Hermione felt grossly underdressed in her pyjamas and robe, especially when she noticed Fleur wore a flattering, light-blue dress made out of some flowing, light material.   
  
‘I am fi–’ Ron stopped in his triumphant explanation and in his forward motion, staring at the two of them. ‘What’s wrong?’  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes behind him. ‘Yeah, what could possibly be wrong?’ she commented sarcastically, pushing him out of the way to enter the kitchen.  
  
‘Hermione helped me remember more about that time I was in his mind again,’ Harry explained, excited.   
  
‘Really?’ Ginny asked, interested, while Ron’s eyes widened in curiosity. ‘That’s great. You haven’t been able to recollect more previously, right?’  
  
‘Ginny, help me clean the kitchen of all this glass,’ Molly ordered, gesturing at her daughter to come over to where she stood instead of sitting down at the table as Ginny planned to do.  
  
‘Mu-um,’ Ginny whined.  
  
‘I can do eet,’ Fleur practically sang and danced past Molly who suddenly looked disgruntled.  
  
‘No, no,’ Mrs. Weasley mumbled, waving her hands through the air in objection, ‘you are a guest here. We can do this ourselves. You already helped enough with Ron. Why don’t you check with Moody if you can help outside?’  
  
Fleur halted in her wand’s swing and commented back, ‘I am sure Bill as eet covered. He’s such a fine weezard.’  
  
While the two of them were busy debating whether or not Mrs. Weasley needed her future daughter-in-law’s assistance, Ron nodded to the outer door, signalling they should leave before they got drawn into the debate. The four of them tiptoed out quickly and sat down at one of the garden’s tables. Ron took the seat on the bench next to Hermione, while Harry sat down across the table from them. The early morning sun began peeking over the horizon and it cast a warm glow around the garden. Hermione conjured some new mugs for them all, while Ginny poured coffee. The redhead had quickly snatched the container with her on their way out. When Ginny was done with the last mug that belonged to Harry, she sat down next to him on the bench and looked at him concerned.   
  
‘Now, what did you remember about You-Know-Who?’  
  
Harry explained it all quickly to the two Weasleys, while Hermione was pondering to herself about what this could possibly mean for her.  
  
‘Ugh,’ Ron said, shivering exaggeratedly, ‘can you imagine You-Know-Who with a woman?’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust.   
  
‘Well, he was holding her quite intimately against him,’ Harry replied thoughtfully, shrugging.   
  
‘Do you reckon it was Bellatrix Lestrange?’ Ginny asked curiously.  
  
A frown appeared on Harry’s face.  
  
‘In her dreams,’ Ron snorted.  
  
Ginny giggled. ‘They deserve each other.’ And she circled her indexfinger near her temple, indicating her opinion on the two.  
  
‘I think Harry would have recognised Bellatrix,’ Hermione said, gritting her teeth annoyed.  
  
Her irritation made her totally ignore that if Harry hadn’t identified her, it was unlikely he would have recognised someone he knew even less.   
  
 _Really, Bellatrix Lestrange? Are they delusional? Like he can’t do any better. If they keep underestimating him like that, they are bound to lose dreadfully._  
  
‘I didn’t mean that Harry was unobservant,’ Ginny said apologetically.   
  
Her brown eyes flickered somewhat nervously between Harry, who was deep in thought, and Hermione, thinking this was the reason the bushy-haired Gryffindor was irritated and worrying Harry would assume the same thing.   
  
‘Nah, I don’t think it was her,’ Harry’s thoughtful voice interrupted them. ‘But it was definitely a woman. Her body felt quite soft. Besides, I can’t see him holding one of his male Death Eaters like that,’ Harry concluded, watching them all, certain they’d agree with that.   
  
Hermione snorted, entertained. That visual was bound to stay on her retinas forever.   
  
‘Mate, can you see him holding anyone like that?’ Ron questioned humorously. ‘Or anyone wanting him to?’   
  
His comments made her annoyance flare right back in full force. ‘Those stupid remarks are not helping, Ron,’ Hermione snapped. ‘Voldemort gaining more power is not a joking matter.’  
  
Ron made a defensive gesture to her with his hands and backed away slightly on the wooden bench, without noticing he did so, before he turned his attention to Harry. ‘Why do you think he didn’t keep the power?’ he asked. ‘Sounds a bit out of character to me.’  
  
It was a valid question that made Hermione pause.  
  
‘Perhaps he has an ulterior motive not to?’ she came up with, feeling the need to ram her stupid head against the nearest brick wall.   
  
Ginny nodded in concurrence to her suggestion, putting the now empty mug in her hand back down on the table.  
  
‘Or maybe he couldn’t just yet,’ Harry added. ‘Maybe he is waiting for the right moment.’  
  
Hermione stared at him. Oh crap. That had to be it. But what moment? How on earth was she going to find that out when she couldn’t share diddlysquat with anyone?  
  
‘When do you think that will be?’ Ron asked, frowning.  
  
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe when he tries to kill me again,’ Harry suggested darkly, hoisting his shoulders up.  
  
‘That’s not funny, Harry,’ Hermione squeaked, turning white as a sheet considering that option.  
  
He smiled at her apologetically.   
  
 **Bang!**  
  
The dustbin next to the door exploded. Ron dove for the ground, covering his head with his arms, while Harry yanked Ginny with him underneath the table. But Hermione stayed seated. She’d swirled her wand around and had a shield erected around them before the debris hit it violently.   
  
‘Whoa, Hermione!’ Ron shouted, peeking with his blue eyes above the bench’s rim she sat on, impressed.  
  
The door flew open, showing a determined Mrs. Weasley with her wand drawn.   
  
‘Alastor!’ she reprimanded, lowering her wand when she realised who was responsible for that blast. ‘Think of the children.’  
  
‘You can never be too careful, Molly,’ Moody muttered under his breath, passing them all while he shifted through the debris with his wand. ‘Dustbins are known hideouts for evildoers. Nice reflexes, Granger. You’d make an excellent Auror.’  
  
‘Thanks, Professor,’ she replied, blushing delighted, while lowering her wand.  
  
‘Professor, Professor,’ Moody repeated, shaking his head in disagreement of the use of that title, before his magical eye swirled around and examined the residue of her silvery shield. He whistled softly and turned to focus his full attention on her appreciatively.  
  
‘The Auror Department can certainly use people who draw and cast as fast as you. Not many are able to conjure such a forceful Environmental Shield,’ he complimented, while totally ignoring that despite knowing this bit of vital information, he’d just blown up the dustbin close to them.  
  
Her cheeks burned with pleasure. ‘Thanks, Pro – er – Mr. Moody,’ she corrected quickly.   
  
‘Alastor, are you done investigating everything around my house already?’ Molly asked with her hands in her side.   
  
‘We have to be certain. Kingsley has–’  
  
Crack!   
  
Mrs. Weasley let out a high  _eep_  and clutched to her chest in shock when robes of deep purple swirled through the air upon Albus Dumbledore’s arrival at the Burrow. His sharp, blue eyes immediately fell on Hermione whose face turned an even deeper shade of red. She started counting numbers in her mind immediately upon witnessing that penetrating gaze. Of course Albus Dumbledore would know she’d been responsible for it. Well, as long as he didn’t know she’d been dancing with Tom Riddle in her dream.  _That_  … would be really embarrassing.  
  
‘Albus,’ Molly sighed, relieved. ‘I am so glad you’re here.’   
  
‘I am sorry I couldn’t come sooner, Molly, but my presence was essential in Russia. We had somewhat of an emergency there,’ Albus spoke calmly.   
  
 _Why, don’t tell me the hoblet is giving you problems,_  Hermione thought mockingly.   
  
‘Grindelwald?’ Molly asked tentatively.  
  
He nodded silently before raising his head to the Burrow and checking out the damage with a flick of his wand. A sigh left his lips when he was done, and he scratched his beard as if he was embarrassed about something.   
  
‘Oh dear, it seems I overdid it.’  
  
Hermione frowned and she wasn’t the only one baffled by Dumbledore’s statement. Confusion was ever present on all the faces around her.  
  
‘Overdid what?’ Moody asked.  
  
‘The wards,’ Albus explained loosely. ‘It seems I made them a bit too strong.’   
  
 _Too strong? What is he talking about? The windows blew not the wards._  
  
‘They’ve put too much pressure on the enchanted windows,’ Dumbledore said.   
  
 _Oh. Good one._  
  
‘They blew up because of you?’ Kingsley’s deep booming voice asked behind them.  
  
Dumbledore turned around and gave him a nod.   
  
‘I thought something was off,’ Kingsley continued. ‘I couldn’t find anything that showed a breach during my investigation of the wards.’  
  
‘Of course you couldn’t,’ Dumbledore said knowingly. ‘The wards are responsible for the destruction.’  
  
Hermione had a hard time keeping her face in check. Her jaw had this distinct need to drop to the floor at seeing the smoothness and ease in which Dumbledore delivered his lies to the others. He really was a fast thinker. She looked sideways at Harry and noticed his confused expression. Recalling that he had identified this disaster as feeling similar to the time she had blackened out the country, she quickly avoided meeting his eyes and kept listening to Dumbledore’s inventions. Last thing she needed right now was someone questioning Professor Dumbledore’s story.  
  
‘Because the enchanted windows are linked to the power of the wards,’ Kingsley added, nodding.  
  
Moody shook his head and glanced at Dumbledore disbelievingly. ‘Please Albus, don’t tell me you actually charmed the windows to be indestructible in that manner while you’re one of the few who can actually perform Morgana’s chant instead?’  
  
Albus shrugged and held out his hands apologetically. ‘Morgana’s chant has a few questionable side-effects too, Alastor. It’s not per se the better one just because less people can cast it. Besides, Tom knows all of Le Fay’s theories and spells by heart. There is no point in picking hers when your adversary is fully versed in their inner workings.’  
  
‘I suppose,’ Moody grunted.   
  
‘However, seeing the other method of protecting the windows led to this, I suppose I have no alternative but to use Morgana’s now. I’ll reimburse you for the damage I can’t fix, Molly,’ Dumbledore said, turning his attention to the Weasley matriarch.   
  
 _Damage he can’t fix? Reimburse her? Hell no. This was my fault. I will just pay him back._  
  
The Hogwarts Headmaster whipped his wand above his head, causing Hermione’s attention to focus on his casting instead of the implications of his words. The little grains of glass that had scattered around everywhere hurtled together in the air above them. A sideway flip, and a roaring fire flew through them, brightening up the early morning sky. A yellowish red, molten liquid mass remained. Albus Dumbledore concentrated. This time, he didn’t move his wand, he moved himself.   
  
Mesmerised, Hermione watched him perform magic as she had only seen it being performed once before when a certain someone moved some dungeons around. Again she swayed in the force of it, but there was a quality to Albus Dumbledore’s magic that she couldn’t identify, a quality so forceful it frightened her. Now that he was performing a high-level spell around her she felt it for the very first time. Something that felt like it was …   
  
She paused, shaking her head at the silly idea that had come to mind. The things she thought these days ... Really, it was ridiculous. Nothing and no one was unbeatable – not even Albus Dumbledore’s magic.   
  
Brushing some strands of hair out of her face that were determined to meet her Headmaster’s power and blocked her vision of him rebuilding the enchanted windows with Morgana’s chant, she tried to comprehend what this distinct quality in Dumbledore’s magic really was. Knowing all the elements of casting, her mind quickly eliminated one option after the other. In the end, she realised she came up empty. She’d run out of elements to allocate to his magic when that mysterious one still remained. Albus Dumbledore had an additional element in his magic! An element not mentioned anywhere in any of the books she’d read on Controlled Casting. An element Lord Voldemort did not possess.   
  
She smirked gleefully. Someone’s huge ego would not appreciate that. Subconsciously, her smirk turned into a gleeful giggle. Hermione was pretty sure if she picked up on Professor Dumbledore’s magical force, he would too. No wonder Dumbledore was supposed to be the only one Voldemort feared. Merlin, such power … it was unbelievable and she could sense he was holding back,  _a lot._  
  
Why was he holding back? What could be the point of it?   
  
Voldemort had told her to always use your full powers if you strived at optimum result when casting, and hadn’t Professor Dumbledore just told Mrs. Weasley that he might not be able to fix everything? So, why wasn’t he striving at optimum result by using his full powers? It made absolutely no sense to Hermione.  
  
Her fingers outstretched, she moved her wandhand through the air, which was not as easy as it sounded, for it was thick with Dumbledore’s magic. So much power … Why hadn’t he just taken out Lord Voldemort at the Ministry that day?   
  
She knew now he could have, easily. All of this madness could have been over, like he stopped Grindelwald all those years ago. Harry should have been safe now. She glanced sorrowfully to her best friend. He didn’t notice her looking at him; he was too busy admiring how Dumbledore split the molten mass into multiple pulsating blobs and steered them towards their destination in the Burrow’s walls. She noticed while looking around that Dumbledore’s casting had attracted the rest of the Order, too. Despite it being extraordinary advanced magic, Hermione had lost any and all will to look at it. She clasped her hands and lowered her gaze to them, disappointment in her Headmaster ever so present in her heart.  
  
The accomplishments of the Great Albus Dumbledore, her mind sneered. Fixing windows, check. Allowing Toadfaces to torture little kiddies, check. Forced Harry to participate in a life-threatening tournament, while knowing Harry hadn’t put his name in the Goblet himself, check. Never explaining to Harry why Voldemort would want to lure him to the ministry and thus assuring Voldemort would succeed, check. Allowing greasy gits to vent their obsessive frustration on the son of the woman he wanted, check. Leading said greasy git to his death by making him return to Voldemort, check. Giving an eleven-year-old boy the “chance” to stand up to the same dark wizard, check. But incarcerating said wizard himself … of course, she couldn’t check off that one.   
  
Rubbing her temples as a small remedy against the threatening upcoming headache, something stirred inside of her. Something wanted to curse Dumbledore into oblivion for his inactions. Something wanted to punish him for everything he had NOT done for them. Subconsciously her wand made it to her hand. She was about to raise it and hex Albus Dumbledore in his back when she realised it and froze in her movements.   
  
 _Oh no, what’s wrong with me?_  
  
 _Nothing_ , a voice echoed in her mind from a far.  _He deserves it._  
  
Her heart stopped when she recognised the voice. Wasn’t it enough he had to appear in her dreams? She really didn’t need any “ _path guidance_ ” from him, while she was awake. If he wanted to hex Albus Dumbledore, he should bloody well do it himself. Her fury was about to explode at him in full force when two hands were placed on her shoulders. The sudden action encapsulated her dark power for a moment, keeping it put like the deep breath you take before blowing out all the candles.   
  
‘Hermione?’ Dumbledore said tentatively.   
  
Looking up in blue eyes who watched her thoughtfully, she panicked. She could feel it stirring. Not again. Everyone was here. She couldn’t hold it in, she couldn’t. She didn’t know how to. Not anymore. Son of a bitch. She should wring that irritating, sniggering snake of his around his neck and pull real hard.  
  
‘Is she alright?’ Tonks asked, worried.   
  
‘She looks a bit green again,’ Remus observed.   
  
Apparently, they had arrived in the garden as well.  _Terrific, the more the merrier._  
  
‘Hermione?’  
  
 _Harry!_    
  
Quickly, she looked sideways in the direction of that familiar face with its comforting kind green eyes. Harry had no agenda. He was just her friend. The emotion lessened her anger and she felt her darkness receding. His hand was stretched out to her and she grabbed it, needing his support, hoping it would help incarcerate the rest of it, too, before she’d hurt someone for real. The second their hands touched, it was like a shock ran through them. Her fingers clasped around Harry’s and his around hers. Hermione gasped when she noticed the dash of red that travelled through Harry’s eyes upon that moment. It was barely noticeable and if she hadn’t been so close to Harry, she might have missed it or thought it was a trick of the light. However, she saw, and worse, recognised it. She’d seen that same dash in Tom Riddle’s eyes in her dreams. It was enough to subdue all her powers. She froze and stared at her best friend horrified. Dumbledore had stepped back, eyeing the situation cautiously.  
  
‘What?’ Harry asked, confused.   
  
His head swivelled between her and Professor Dumbledore for answers to what was the matter.   
  
Ron’s hand on her shoulder made Hermione look behind her and Harry’s hand slipped through her fingers as she let go slowly.   
  
‘Are you still nauseous, because of what happened?’ Ron asked carefully, watching her extremely pale face.   
  
She wanted to shake her head when Dumbledore spoke up. ‘I am sorry about this, Hermione, Harry. Magic like this …’ –he gestured to the windows of the Burrow– ‘can have unfortunate side-effects.’  
  
‘We got a shock when we touched,’ Harry said questioningly.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. ‘Apparently, Hermione absorbed some of the power meant for the enchanted windows. Since it’s not supposed to be ingested by humans, it makes them sick. Touching helps, I believe the shock indicates you took some of the pressure of her.’  
  
Hermione lowered her head, trying hard not to give anything away, because she knew she hadn’t absorbed any of the powers. The shock came from inside of her. What the hell was going on? Why had Harry’s eyes turned red? Was this the stupid pendant’s fault? Professor Dumbledore had said it was not a threat. Had he been wrong? She’d heard Voldemort’s voice and she was pretty sure she’d felt the pendant’s temperature change during. Was this what Dumbledore meant about him slipping a bit of her path in there? But what else could she expect this thing to do?   
  
She was so deeply invested in her worried pondering that she missed half of the conversation taking place, until Ron squeezed her shoulder when he spoke up concerned. ‘Were the protections on the windows the reason why she got sick before?’   
  
‘Most likely,’ Dumbledore concurred.  
  
‘Is it safe for her to stay at our house then, Albus?’ Arthur inquired.   
  
‘Yes, it only happens when the magic is released.’  
  
‘When the windows blew and when you created them,’ Kingsley said knowingly.   
  
‘Exactly.’  
  
 **Crack!**  
  
Everyone froze and turned to the new arrival. Her white curly hair was in complete disarray and her robes were slightly torn as if she’d been running through rosebushes. A large scratch on her face was still leaking some blood and her face seemed extremely tired with large bags underneath her eyes. She let herself fall on the bench next to Hermione and sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head.   
  
‘Ljudmila, what happened to you?’ Dumbledore asked, concerned.   
  
‘Nothing,’ the lady mumbled, disgruntled.  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows at that. It certainly didn’t look “nothing” to her.  
  
Ljudmila Volkova lifted her arms above her head and stretched out her body before cracking her neck by tilting her head sideways in both directions.   
  
‘Nothing?’ Dumbledore repeated questioningly.   
  
‘Just a tiny disagreement,’ she responded lightly.   
  
 _Sure, tiny._  
  
‘With whom?’  
  
That question was on everyone’s mind.   
  
Volkova looked at Dumbledore in knowing amusement. ‘You have to ask?’   
  
‘He didn’t,’ Dumbledore said, his eyes darkening.  
  
 _He, what he?_  
  
‘Oh, but he did. Apparently, he was not amused about your suggestion to assist us in getting the boy’s mother out of there. Got him good too. Though, I am so sorry he Apparated away before I was able to incinerate that overpriced, designer outfit of his. Well, maybe next time …’ Ljudmila said, rubbing her hands in clear anticipation of her vengeance. Smirking deviously, she looked sideways to Hermione, who immediately started counting numbers again. ‘But I believe you lot had enough excitement over here to worry about my problems, have you not?’ she nudged Hermione in her side teasingly. ‘Allegedly unbreakable glass flying around everywhere – such power.’  
  
Hermione blinked. She didn’t dare to look around in case she would see suspicion in the eyes of one of the Order members present. Was that woman crazy? Oh, scratch that, all those Keepers had a screw loose. It was like they were dying to be made. The arrogance they portrayed towards the rest of the world was just unbelievable. She wondered how many times they’d had to Obliviate someone merely because they’d been careless with their actions and words. The Keepers she had met so far gave an entirely new meaning to geniality being close to insanity.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. ‘No need to rub it in, Ljudmila. You were right. I was wrong. I should have used Morgana’s chant on the windows instead of Ulley’s.’  
  
‘Ah, of course I was right,’ Ljudmila agreed without blinking. ‘And I would love to be right a lot longer, but unfortunately I have very little time today.’ She got to her feet and swirled her wand around, mending her torn robes. ‘I have an appointment two hours from now in St. Petersburg, Albus; we need to start immediately if we plan to make any progress. That is if you’re done fixing your blunders?’ she added with a twinkle in her eyes.  
  
‘All of them?’ he replied humorously. ‘I am afraid you’re never going to be on time if that’s to be the case.’   
  
They grinned at each other.   
  
He turned to the others. ‘If you’ll all excuse us, we’ll be in the living room. Hermione?’   
  
Her head snapped up. ‘Sorry?’   
  
‘We need to continue your Occlumency lesson.’  
  
‘Albus,’ Mrs. Weasley objected, ‘she is not well.’  
  
‘I am fine, I am fine’ Hermione said, jumping to her feet immediately, causing Harry and Ron to look at each other grinning. They knew there was nothing like the idea of knowledge and lessons to make Hermione feel alright in a heartbeat.   
  
Mrs. Weasley was still shaking her head when Hermione moved indoors with Professors Dumbledore and Volkova.   
  
‘Too bad he didn’t bring the library,’ Fred joked at their retreating backs. ‘She wouldn’t have got sick in the first place if there’d been books around.’  
  
Everyone laughed, except for Alastor Moody. His magical eye was focused on the door the three had just disappeared through and he was in deep thought.  
  
\---  
  
The silence in the Malfoy parlour was deafening. Surrounded by a contingency of Death Eaters, a blonde woman knelt on the floor a couple of meters in front of his chair. Lord Voldemort crossed his leg over the other and tapped with his long spidery fingers on the armrest contemplatively, going over his options.  
  
In the mean time, Bellatrix prowled around the blonde with her wand drawn, wishing he would give her to go ahead to use her favourite curse. It was obvious to him she would have done so already had he not been here when Yaxley brought the woman in. Bella always had felt easily threatened by any females he added to his ranks. It was useful at times, but mostly it was a nuisance. Not many women had the nerve to declare their loyalty to him because of Lestrange. This one, however, wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. He’d seen the veiled mocking glance she had sent Lestrange’s way, though he was certain he’d been the only one.   
  
‘Tell me, Mrs. Grindelwald,’ he said coldly, while his wand appeared in his hand in a blink of an eye, ‘why shouldn’t I kill you on the spot or …’ –he looked around his followers for a moment, stroking his wand affectionately– ‘let them have their way with you?’  
  
Bella practically jumped up and down in excitement at his words. Her eyes glowed with excitement at the chance to torture someone. He almost sighed, but his face remained impassive. He recalled how he had considered making the pureblood Slytherin his wife a long time ago to gain him additional power and esteem. Well, the Blacks were an ancient influential family and quite enamoured by his beliefs of pureblood supremacy. It had taken him ages to ease Bella into his preferred sexual endeavours, so she could satisfy his needs, but she had become far too clingy in the end and he had shoved her off to marry Rodolphus, deciding Lord Voldemort had all the esteem he required anyway. They had both complied as loyal servants, and he was certain their sexual needs were compatible, but he also knew Bella kept pining for him.   
  
On occasion, he had rewarded her when he felt like it, but truth be told Bella bored him. Her unquestionable devotion, though admirable, was something he could only stand in small doses at the time and that was before she turned completely insane. All those years in Azkaban had severely damaged the woman’s mental facilities – she used to be quite clever and sharp, but there was nothing of that left now. All that remained of her personality was a childlike individual with basic violent needs and the overwhelming magical skill to meet those needs.   
  
Actually, she was quite a liability to him now with her desire for instant gratification, as were her husband and brother, who also had not come out of Azkaban unscathed. But they had been the only ones, who had tried to find him after his fall. The only ones, who’d remained loyal on the stand, who’d proclaimed their allegiance to him with pride and had not forsaken him in all these years of his absence. Somehow, he felt indebted to the three of them, but mostly to Bella, because he knew she had been the driving force behind all that loyalty. So, he put up with most of her madness, as long as she didn’t compromise his interests too much.  
  
Mrs. Grindelwald had raised her head to him, and he focused back on his sudden and rather surprising visitor.   
  
‘With the fall of Nurmengard, all of my  _husband_ ’s,’ she spat, her face contorted in disgust, ‘most powerful supporters have regained their freedom. Right now they are just wandering around, but a true leader such as yourself could easily inspire them to join your cause; I know how to contact them and they listen to my judgement. Your forces could multiply tenfold in an instant and you’d be able to take over this country immediately.’  
  
Voldemort laughed. For a second, he glanced to Yaxley with amusement, who smirked back knowingly. It made the Carrows squirm and move even farther away, for they had not been able to hand him similar good news about Hogwarts and he’d already “explained” his displeasure about that to them thoroughly.   
  
 _Morons._  
  
Slowly, the Dark Lord leaned forward in his chair, a condescending expression plastered on his snakelike face.   
  
‘Why should I settle for  _losers_  when I can get the job done without them, Aloysia? I am afraid you’ve been misinformed if you are under the mistaken impression that I need assistance to take out the ministry of this country.’   
  
He relished in the brief flash of concern on the woman’s face and continued with vicious satisfaction.   
  
‘Actually, it’s quite convenient for me  _not_  to have them here. I am sure the second I am linked to dear Gellert’s old acquaintances the focus of the other ministries might shift back to me, which could be a …  _nuisance_. I enjoy the freedom to do what needs doing, while they fret over what Gellert will do next when he is obviously hiding underneath a rock somewhere, concerning himself with the latest wizarding fashion.’  
  
He deliberately made the innuendo about Gellert’s sexuality to see how the woman would respond. She bristled furiously, and he saw in her mind she was about to say something disparaging about Gellert.   
  
 _Did she take him for a fool?_  
  
Abruptly, he rose to his feet.   
  
‘Crucio!’ he cast evenly, circling the writhing and thrashing blonde with savage delight, while his Death Eaters hastily scattered away to make room for him. ‘Did you and Gellert decide this was a perfect set up for him to worm his way back into a position of power? Get your men inside of key positions in my organisation to take it over when the appropriate moment would arise?’ he sneered through her agonising screams. ‘Should I send your mutilated body to Nathaira’s cave to make sure he gets the message or do I need to go over there and “explain” things to him myself?’  
  
He lowered his wand and stared condescendingly at the panting figure at his feet.   
  
‘Answer me, Aloysia,’ he hissed, swiping his wand around so Mrs. Grindelwald’s blood sprayed all over the expensive carpeting, not caring about the flinch it sent through Narcissa’s body. He squatted down beside the bleeding woman’s face and whispered softly in her ear, ‘I’m very aware of the arrangement you two made, so he could hide his true preferences back in the forties. This pathetic acting might work on others, but you do not fool Lord Voldemort.’  
  
‘I am not pissed at Gellert for being gay,’ Aloysia bit back, surprising him. ‘I am pissed, because he gave up. He betrayed his cause and all of us who fought for him. We should have won that day. We outnumbered them greatly, but he just handed  _his_  wand to Albus Dumbledore of all wizards available. He lost on purpose to Albus Dumbledore,’ she spat. ‘Not to some mediocre, untalented wizard who couldn’t distinguish between a jinx and a hex. No, to someone who knew  _exactly_  how to wield it.’   
  
 _How to wield what?_  
  
She glanced from him to his Death Eaters before avoiding her eyes, making him narrow his – certain he was not getting the full story now. He knew Aloysia Grindelwald would have had adequate experience with Legilimency, seeing she’d been around Gellert for a very long time.   
  
‘We didn’t stand a chance anymore, because with his loss,’ –she met his eyes– ‘morale dropped to an all time low and Gellert knew that.’   
  
 _Get rid of them, I have information you do not want to be public knowledge._  
  
The message flowed through her mind while she was speaking. He had to applaud her capabilities at that. Most were unable to think one thing and speak another. He wondered how many times she and Gellert had used this way to communicate secretly. It could be a rather useful method for him to explore, too. Granger would probably be able to duplicate it.   
  
‘It had to be why he chose to duel Albus,’ she continued. ‘And some fools still think he just wanted to beat his old friend.’ A humourless laugh left her lips. ‘If he had wanted to beat Albus, he would have.’  
  
 _He had the perfect weapon to achieve it_ , she added mentally, signalling with her eyes to his followers again.  
  
A weapon against Albus Dumbledore? Perhaps he should humour the woman and give her what she wanted until he had all the information?  
  
‘I should have known,’ Aloysia Grindelwald snarled. ‘I should have seen it, ever since he became extremely quiet after Efraim Kahn died. He enjoyed the Muggle war before that. He always said, “The more Muggles kill each other, the less I need to get rid of.” And he always scolded Kahn for protecting them, for always being in his way, for even saving those who would gladly gas him if he ever lost his wand.’  
  
‘Gellert killed Kahn personally, and you’re expecting me to buy into your ridiculous story that it made him feel remorseful?’ Voldemort asked quietly, his lip curling up.   
  
The witch’s expression faltered.   
  
‘That he changed his ways?’ he added mockingly. ‘That he lost on purpose? That he became a good, little, merry, gay boy?’   
  
Soft chuckles of his followers met his derisive statements and he smirked.  
  
‘It’s what happened,’ Aloysia spoke through gritted teeth. ‘If you don’t believe me, then your Legilimency skills are highly overrated.’  
  
It turned silent immediately. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the inevitable response, while he gazed directly at the foolish witch in front of him.  
  
 _I can hand you the means to take out Dumbledore, but I am not saying a word in front of them._  
  
Her mind suddenly turned into a blank wall of nothingness. Not a single thought was visible. His hand snatched out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to keep meeting his eyes, which she did in clear amusement.   
  
‘Do you think you can keep this up endlessly, Aloysia Gertrude Grindelwald?’ he hissed, making her winch when he put additional pressure on her jaw. ‘Unlike your husband  _ **I**_  can get very creative when it comes down to torturing women.’ He leaned forward until his face was but a hair width away from the blonde’s. ‘Fortunately, I have all the time in the world right now to make you entertain me,’ he whispered venomously.   
  
All colour left her face as his head swivelled to his Death Eaters. ‘Leave us.’  
  
Most of them were out of there in a heartbeat, some wearing a disappointed expression for not being able to watch or participate. However, Bella stood rooted to the spot, her eyes shooting daggers at the witch on the floor in front of him.   
  
Lord Voldemort sighed. ‘Do I need to repeat myself, Bella?’ he asked sweetly.   
  
Shock travelled visibly through the woman’s body and she shook her head before vacating the room, too. Her hatred for Mrs. Grindelwald hung tangibly in the air even after the door closed behind her.   
  
‘She is a liability you can’t afford to maintain,’ Aloysia advised matter-of-factly.  
  
‘ _Crucio!_ ’   
  
Deliciously satisfying screams filled the air. Closing his eyes, he let them wash over him. There was nothing more pacifying, more tranquil to him. Screams – delightful terrorised screams – were the absolute proof of his superiority and power over all those around him. The way his victims would writhe, thrash, crawl and plead: he adored it, revelled in it, and bathed in it till they turned silent,  _forever_ , leaving nothing behind on this planet but the stinking excretions of their useless rotting corpses when Lord Voldemort took mercy upon them and finished the job.   
  
Power over life and death  _that_  … he had in spades – the greatest wizard of all. Soon, that power would expand beyond anyone’s belief, beyond his Horcruxes. He’d be a god, a supreme being: unbeatable, all thanks to Hermione Jean Granger. His eyes flashed open, flickering in a sly happiness as he took under consideration that he only met the Mudblood due to Albus Dumbledore.   
  
Albus Dumbledore? … Oh yeah, he got distracted. The silly witch on the ground had something to tell him before he was going to take “care” of her.  
  
He lowered his wand and hissed, ‘Start talking.’  
  
\---


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**  
  
‘Tomorrow, my friends, we will strike fear in the hearts of our enemies,’ Lord Voldemort orated as he strolled among his many followers.   
  
‘We may not be able to take Hogwarts as of yet, but we can surely weaken its important position within the wizarding community. My plan – as simple as it is effective – will deal a significant blow to Dumbledore’s leadership. After tomorrow, wizards and witches all over the United Kingdom will doubt the security of Hogwarts. The quality of its current education shall be under question. Parents will wonder whether they should send their children back. Many of them won’t. Tomorrow we will show those seeking security from the ministry and Dumbledore the error of their ways. We are the new rule. The future leaders of this country. It’s time they learn the authorities can’t protect them.’   
  
He paused, making eye contact with his followers one by one. A broad smirk appeared on his snakelike face. ‘Tomorrow I will go grocery shopping at Diagon Alley. Anyone in need of anything?’  
  
Loud laughter followed his statement.  
  
‘Firewhiskey!’ a daring voice in the back yelled cheerfully.  
  
‘So noted,’ he replied humorously, rising the spirits of his followers even further. Several more suggestions followed, heightening the exuberant mood. Giggles and excited voices hummed around the Malfoy garden, and he waited it out perfectly before continuing.  
  
‘And as the Aurors waste their time attempting to apprehend me,  ** _you_** ,’ –again he paused and looked around, installing feelings of pride and self-assurance in his minions–, will be victorious.’  
  
Cheers greeted him. Seeing his job was done, he casually left, leaving it up to Narcissa to keep the party going and under control. He wasn’t expecting all of them to survive – nor did he care – as long as the job got done.  
  
\---  
  
Happily, Hermione looked at her friends casting. The last couple of days had been a lot more comfortable. She finally felt at home, especially after Mrs. Weasley told them they were going to get their school supplies at Diagon Alley tomorrow since the ministry was borrowing their cars to them again. Books! Next year’s textbooks. She couldn’t wait to flip through them. It was almost like old times. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.   
  
Well, nothing out of the ordinary for  _them_. She’d had no more dark outbursts after her “tiny” nervous breakdown on that day when she’d broken the windows. Professor Dumbledore had actually been helpful to her then, even though she hadn’t got many answers. She felt a bit embarrassed now, as she thought back to how she frantically had paced around the table in the living room, gesturing wildly while spilling her guts about every stupid Keeper-related rule and the awful,  _awful_  position she was in.   
  
The only good thing about it had been that she’d got closer to Professor Dumbledore. Their relationship no longer felt strained, like a barrier had been broken, taking away their mutual distrust. It was almost like her outburst had made him relieved. Well, the man was odd. After having three Occlumency lessons, she was even surer of that now. Brilliant, but odd.   
  
Still, despite the reassurances she’d got, there was one thing that kept bothering her: Harry’s eyes turning red. She could care less about any consequences for her, but Harry was her friend. She cared about him. So, her mind kept going back to that part of the conversation.   
  
 _‘Harry’s eyes turned red!’ she shrieked in frustration when Dumbledore merely aha-ed and mmm-ed during her furious rant. ‘Red!’  
  
She took a deep breath, placed her hands in her sides and watched him aggravated for an answer.  
  
‘I noticed,’ Dumbledore replied calmly. ‘It’s not entirely unexpected.’  
  
‘Not unexpected. Not unexpected. It happened after Harry touched me,’ Hermione said, pulling the necklace out of her pyjamas and waving it demonstratively under his crooked nose, ‘and this was active during. You said it wasn’t a threat to Harry.’  
  
‘I don’t believe it is.’  
  
‘His eyes turned red,’ she said, exasperated with the casual manner in which Dumbledore was taking all this. ‘Maybe it’s me, but I don’t think it’s a good sign.’  
  
Dumbledore smiled. ‘We already know about their connection, Hermione. Your pendant is filled with Tom’s magic. When it activates close to Harry, it can trigger … that.’  
  
Her eyes widened in shock, and she staggered back. ‘Then – then, I’m a threat to Harry. I shouldn’t be here. I’m his apprentice. This entire stupid arrangement is too dangerous. I’m going upstairs to pack.’  
  
Immediately, she turned around and paced to the door.   
  
‘Hermione.’  
  
She ignored Dumbledore’s concerned voice and ranted on: ‘It’s insane. Who knows what else this will do – what I will do? I can’t risk–’  
  
The door wouldn’t open, and she swirled around. ‘Let me out!’ she shrieked hysterically to her Headmaster who’d followed her to the door.  
  
‘Hermione,’ Dumbledore repeated with more emphasis, placing his hands on her shoulders comforting. ‘You need to be here with your friends.’  
  
‘Yeah, well, my friends can do without me. It’s too dange–’  
  
‘Your friends want you here,’ he interrupted, watching her seriously over his half-moon glasses. ‘Harry needs you to be here.’  
  
‘But-but,’ she spluttered.   
  
‘The connection between Tom and Harry exists with or without your presence, Hermione. He doesn’t need the pendant to achieve what occurred just now.’  
  
‘Harry’s eyes have never turned red before,’ she objected petulantly.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. He let go of her shoulders and plucked at his beard. ‘You weren’t there in the ministry when Tom took over Harry’s body. It was a lot worse then. This little eye issue is nothing in comparison. It’s only a reaction to the magic. There’s no conscious intent behind it.’  
  
Hermione looked down, contemplating on what he’d said. ‘What if there becomes a conscious intent behind it?’ she asked in a small voice.   
  
‘Unnecessary,’ Dumbledore replied, shrugging. ‘He doesn’t need the pendant for that, Hermione. He really doesn’t.’  
  
‘Just because he doesn’t need it is no guarantee he won’t use it,’ she muttered underneath her breath.   
  
‘True, but he can’t. Not for a long period anyway. He already noticed this at the ministry. While Harry can enter him without harm, he can’t do the same – staying inside Harry causes him severe pain.’  
  
‘And you’re sure this pendant isn’t creating some way around that problem?’ Hermione asked, watching Dumbledore sharply for his response.   
  
A brief smile flew over his otherwise serious expression. ‘You’ve got to know Tom pretty well in the time you stayed with him if you’re considering that option,’ Dumbledore concluded, sharing a knowing glance with Volkova.   
  
‘That’s not an answer to my question,’ she growled.   
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling at her. ‘I’m just … I’m relieved to see he hasn’t pulled the wool completely over your eyes.’  
  
‘What?’ she snapped, confused.  
  
But Dumbledore ignored her outburst and focused his answer on her previous question.   
  
‘No pendant can create a way around Tom’s problem. It’s Harry’s emotions: Harry’s love that keeps him out.’ His eyes turned sad; the lines of his face suddenly seemed deeper as if he’d aged years in a blink of an eye. ‘Love is not something you can learn to feel through a pendant. If it could, I would have created one for Tom decades ago.’_  
  
‘Hermione, it doesn’t work!’ Ron exclaimed, shaking his wand in frustration. ‘Hermione?’  
  
She snapped out of her thoughts and walked to him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked sharply, furrowing her brow at his wandmovements.  
  
‘What you told me to,’ he replied, irritated.   
  
When she’d shown Ginny how to do that Sticking Curse, Harry and Ron had walked in on them practising and also wanted to learn. They got very enthusiastic when they found out that Hermione had this book filled with battle spells, and even more so when they realised Hermione knew how to perform them. So, they’d badgered her to teach them. But with the four of them, Hermione felt they needed a more secure location than Ginny’s bedroom to practise what was considered illegal Dark Arts magic. Especially after she’d noticed Alastor Moody’s eye was glancing in her and Dumbledore’s direction a bit too often to her taste.  
  
Ginny had the perfect solution. She knew of this little clearing in the bushes behind the shed. It kept them fully out of sight even if someone was sitting in the Burrow’s garden, and they could practise to their heart’s content without getting spotted. Quickly, it became clear to Hermione that Harry and Ginny displayed a real aptitude for the Dark Arts. If she showed them a new curse, jinx or hex, it never took them long to learn how to make it leave their wands with significant force.   
  
Ron, on the other hand, was struggling severely, even with the relatively easier hexes. It was odd, she felt. Ron did okay in Charms. He shouldn’t have this much trouble with the spells she was teaching them. If only she could pinpoint what his problem was …?  
  
Right now, he was obviously waving too much with his wand. ‘You’re not listening to me. You only need to flick an inch to the right like this,’ she said bossily, as she moved her wand as an example.   
  
‘I was flicking it an inch,’ Ron snapped, folding his arms over each other.  
  
‘No, you were not,’ she corrected. ‘It was at least two inches. Plus, you’re pronouncing it wrong. It’s Ar-Ow-Ra not Ar-Ew-Ra.’  
  
‘Now it’s  _ow_ ,’ he said, throwing his hands in the air.  
  
‘It was  _ow_  before too,’ Hermione said, placing her hands in her sides.  
  
A few feet away, Harry and Ginny shared a glance of mutual understanding.  
  
‘That wasn’t what you said when you showed us,’ Ron continued.   
  
‘Oh, really? Then why did Harry and Ginny get it right immediately?’   
  
Ron’s ears turned red. Harry shuffled on his feet uncomfortably. And Ginny opened her mouth to stop another row from escalating. However, Molly Weasley beat her to it. They all turned when they heard her calling out to them to come to have lunch, and quickly, they hid their practise materials, grabbed the brooms they placed against the shed’s wall and pretended to come back from the fields, flying.   
  
\---  
  
‘My Lord.’  
  
Somewhat apprehensive, Yaxley knelt down and waited for the wizard staring out the window to acknowledge his presence. He wasn’t sure why his mark had burned, but past experiences had taught him that being summoned like this usually meant he’d done something wrong and was in for a lot of pain. Still, he couldn’t begin to fathom what his Lord would be displeased about. He’d brought him nothing but good news. The Carrows were the ones who screwed things up, not him. When the Dark Lord turned around, Yaxley quickly bowed his head a bit further, not wanting  _him_  to notice his thoughts. However, he did notice the parchment clutched between the long spidery fingers.   
  
‘Get up, Yaxley, and look at me.’   
  
Yaxley pressed his eyelids together and drew in a shaky breath. This was not good.  
  
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ he said obediently, rising to his feet fast, knowing it was not smart to make his Lord wait, unless one wanted to suffer longer.  
  
‘If someone wants to forge their identity, pretend to be of a respectable wizarding line in the official ministerial documents when one is in fact a Mudblood, would that be possible?’  
  
‘Ermmm…’ Yaxley paused, his eyes flickering between his master’s face and the document in his hands. It seemed someone else was in deep shit. He nearly let out a relieved sigh that it wasn’t him. Obviously, he was only called in to supply his Lord with the relevant information to flush out the impostor. ‘It depends on how well the document needs to stand up to scrutiny.’  
  
‘All the way.’  
  
‘Well, that would be nearly impossible. It’s easy to make a forged document, break into the registry and replace the original with yours. But for a truly good forgery you need the seal of the Genealogy Wizard and he’s a relic. Keeps the seal on his body at all times and does everything by the book. He never leaves the Ministry, lives in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, and has nothing or no one he cares about. He made his office his home and even has food brought to him by owls, so he won’t need to talk to humans. Margoon is a true hermit. He avoids contact with people at all costs and even barricades his workplace to keep co-workers out.’  
  
‘I see,’ Lord Voldemort said slowly, fiddling with the document in his hand. ‘So, you say it can’t be done.’  
  
Yaxley shrugged. ‘Nothing is impossible I suppose,’ he replied carefully. ‘Does that document have a seal?’  
  
‘If it has, what would you deduce by that?’ Voldemort asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.  
  
‘That it’s real,’ Yaxley said immediately before he paused, looking down as he considered the question fully, and by doing so, he missed the satisfactory glint briefly visible in the red eyes of his master. ‘Only you wouldn’t have called me if it was,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘If it’s a forgery with a seal, the person needed to have access to the Depar–’ He froze, looking up in shock. ‘It wasn’t me, my Lord,’ he added hastily.  
  
‘You’re admitting you could do it?’ Lord Voldemort said, stepping to him contemplatively.   
  
‘Ye-yes,’ he stuttered, panicking, ‘b-but–’   
  
Lord Voldemort held up his hand to stop his denials. ‘That’s all I need to know, Yaxley. Make sure this gets a seal before Monday.’   
  
Stunned, Yaxley just stood there, trying to grasp that he wasn’t under accusation and instead was handed an assignment. It took him a couple of seconds to snap out of it, before he accepted the parchment from Lord Voldemort’s outstretched hand and looked at it. His jaw dropped when he recognised the name.  
  
‘I trust I can count on your discretion, Yaxley,’ the cold voice quietly said.  
  
‘As always, my Lord.’   
  
\---  
  
Big blocks of rock made up the walls. A barred window high up in the ceiling showed thick, threatening thunderclouds rolling by as she could hear the North Sea pounding against the cliffs in the distance. A crackling flash of lightning impacted close by, illuminating the cell Hermione stood in. Thunder roared around them, a fitting example of the struggle in her mind.   
  
‘Azkaban?’ Dumbledore said, strolling around amused. ‘Creative. Do you think this will keep me in?’  
  
Hermione shrugged. She felt tired like she’d run a marathon. Twice. Fortunately, the cell had a bed. It wouldn’t hurt if she sat down. She didn’t really need to stand for this. It wasn’t real.   
  
On that thought, the walls seemed to dissolve, slowly turning transparent and giving her a clear view on the wizard standing in front of her with his wand raised – as if one Dumbledore wasn’t enough, now she had a visual on two of them. Crap. She was losing. She had to focus. Her mind was real. Those walls were real, built to keep prisoners inside. She needed to keep him inside.   
  
Dumbledore watched thoughtfully through it all, not moving an inch, until the walls regained their previous shape and cohesion, obscuring his real life self.  
  
‘Quick thinking,’ he praised, continuing to stroll around till he reached the prison cell’s door. ‘Nice door,’ he added, knocking on the hard wood.   
  
 _Solid, thick wood, impenetrable, impenetrable_ , her mind visualised.  _You’re not getting out. This door will hold._  
  
His hand moved to the doorknob. There hadn’t been one a second ago.  
  
 _It’s locked, **locked!**_  
  
Hermione smirked when he turned the knob without success.   
  
Professor Dumbledore nodded. ‘I thought it might be locked,’ he said casually, ‘no harm in trying though. One would feel incredibly stupid if one hadn’t tried and it turned out to be … unlocked.’   
  
He glanced back at her expectantly; his hand was still on the knob, fumbling it when he mentioned the word unlocked.  
  
‘Yeah,’ she agreed. It was why she had tried the door at Malfoy Manor too, even though she knew the chance was incredibly flimsy. ‘But it’s locked.’  
  
‘Happen to have the key?’ he asked, holding out his other hand inconspicuously.  
  
 _The key?_  She frowned.  
  
‘Thank you,’ Dumbledore said cheerfully.   
  
Hermione gasped when it was suddenly in his hand. She jumped to her feet. ‘No!’ she yelled, panicking.  
  
 _He has the key. He’s getting out._  
  
She ran to the door to stop him. However, he’d already opened the door and swirled out. It smashed to right in front of her nose. A furious scream left her lips, and she kicked the door. It wouldn’t budge  _now_. Naturally. Ugh.  
  
‘Hermione, Hermione,’ a female voice echoed in the distance.   
  
Ljudmila Volkova’s voice … What was Ljudmila Volkova doing in Azkaban? Hermione’s shoulders shook. Someone was shaking her. Impossible, she was alone in this cell. Nobody else was here.  
  
‘Hermione, you’re at the Burrow.’ Dumbledore’s voice came from afar as well. ‘Use another part of your mind.’  
  
‘Open your eyes, Hermione,’ Volkova said softly.  
  
Weren’t they open already? She could see her cell.  
  
‘Hermione, open your eyes. Now!’ Volkova ordered, shaking her more forcefully.   
  
 _Gee, fine. Overreact much?_    
  
‘Stop shaking me,’ Hermione muttered, opening her eyes, disoriented.   
  
 _Merlin’s pants, my head is killing me._  
  
She clutched to her head, groaning as reality slowly returned. She wasn’t in Azkaban. It had been the illusion her mind had made up. She was at the Burrow, practising compartmentalising as an Occlumency weapon with Professor Dumbledore and ending up incapacitated on the floor as usual.   
  
 _Perfect, just perfect: two weeks of vacation, no Lord Voldemort in sight, and I’m still crawling around on all fours. If I start meowing and grow a set of whiskers plus matching tail, it’ll be fitting. Ouch, stupid splinter._  After pulling it out, Hermione rubbed her toe. Patting the floor behind her carefully, she located her lost slipper and placed it back on her foot.  _Tonight, these uneven, rough floorboards are so going to get it._  
  
‘Did she snap out of it by herself this time?’ a concerned Dumbledore asked Volkova, who sat squatted in front of Hermione.  
  
Volkova nodded. ‘I didn’t need to use magic and guide her out.’ She turned to Hermione. ‘Good job.’  
  
 _Suuuure, my aching head duly concurs that assessment._  
  
A hand appeared in plain view. Clumsily, Hermione took it and let Volkova help her to her feet. She staggered back and forth when the room started dancing around her. Two people grabbed a hold of her upper arms.   
  
‘It’s best if she sits down a moment,’ Dumbledore said.   
  
Hermione had no say in it. Not that she would have disagreed. But to be practically thrown into the couch magically by two of them was a bit …  _much_. Quickly grabbing a hold of the armrest, she tried to steady herself in her new seated position. The last thing she needed was a repetition of vomiting all over herself. Oh Merlin, she could feel her stomach acid churning. Why did everything insist to keep dancing in front of her? Blood drained from her face. It was so cold in here, so cold. Her teeth clattered as she shivered relentlessly.   
  
‘Here, drink, quickly,’ Volkova said, pushing a rim of a cup against her lips.   
  
The fumes of the hot broth tickled her nostrils, whirling down with a vicious relentlessness to raise her already heightened nausea.   
  
‘No, wait! She’ll…’ Dumbledore threw both arms in the air when Hermione curved over the armrest sideways and emptied her stomach for the fourth time that day. ‘Throw up again,’ he ended rather superfluously.   
  
Ljudmila’s face turned apologetically as she quickly took a hold of Hermione’s hair. ‘Sorry, I hoped you could down it on time.’   
  
A plume of strange blue fire left Dumbledore’s wand. Volkova let go of Hermione’s hair a split-second before the spell struck the vomiting girl.   
  
‘Oi,’ Hermione called out, clutching to the armrest as a cleansing fire breathed into her mouth.  
  
It burned away the acid in her throat, halting her heaving abruptly. Then, the world cleared in its path as the dizzying effects that bothered her mind slowed down to a halt. As the fire moved on, the cold vanished, warming up her body to a comfortable temperature. It settled her stomach, eradicating all nauseating feelings. Blinking, she lifted her head somewhat.   
  
‘How’s that?’ Dumbledore asked, bending forward to be able to look her in the eyes.   
  
‘Much better,’ Hermione replied, relieved. She ran her hands over her perspiring face, wiping her hair out of the way. ‘Much, much better.’ A tired sigh left her lips as she leaned back into the couch.   
  
‘Good.’ He turned to Ljudmila. ‘What do you think?’   
  
‘Well …’ –the witch looked at the clock– ‘I still have time, but …’ –her eyes settled on the tired girl– ‘ermmm … it may be enough for one setting?’   
  
‘She’s only got better. There has been no decline in performance yet.’  
  
‘But do we wait for that?’ Ljudmila countered, looking at him seriously.  
  
‘Hmm…’ Thoughtfully, he rubbed his beard. ‘We only have a limited window to teach her.’  
  
‘I know. Still, I think we should be careful. You know–’  
  
‘I want to try again,’ Hermione interrupted.   
  
Tired as she was, she didn’t want to stop already. It irked her that she seemed to be making no progress whatsoever. She absolutely didn’t have a clue why Professor Dumbledore said she got better, because every time, no matter how hard she tried to keep him in her mind, he would just leave without any effort whatsoever. Sure, she didn’t make the same mistakes twice. But as long as she kept making new ones, that didn’t really equate “getting better” in her opinion.   
  
Dumbledore and Volkova looked at each other silently.   
  
‘Look,’ Hermione said, standing up and placing her hands in her sides, determined. ‘I am fine.’  
  
‘Let’s see how it goes,’ Dumbledore said, flicking his wrist to make his wand reappear.  
  
‘Albus,’ Volkova said admonishingly, her tone of voice clearly vocalising her thoughts on the issue of continuing.  
  
‘Ljudmila,’ Dumbledore copied dryly, tapping with his wand against his leg.  
  
The elderly witch stepped between him and Hermione. ‘No, I don’t think this is a good idea. We should call it a day.’  
  
‘I disagree. She snapped out of it by herself this time. She’s still improving significantly – that doesn’t happen when you reach the threshold. Plus, she seems fine physically.’ Moving his head sideways to look past Ljudmila inquiringly, Albus Dumbledore turned to his current student for her opinion on the matter. ‘Hermione?’  
  
‘I’m just as tired as I was before we did the last exercise,’ she answered, concurring his assessment of her being fine physically. Well, she was … for the most part.   
  
‘And your headache?’ Ljudmila asked sceptically.  
  
‘Same,’ Hermione said, shrugging.  
  
Volkova sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s not just her I have to worry about, Albus. If it goes completely wrong, you can both end up in a vegetative state.’  
  
‘Which is why I invited you to oversee the lessons, so you can break the mental link if necessary,’ Dumbledore finished calmly.  
  
Ljudmila looked at Hermione questioningly.   
  
‘I felt much,  _much_  worse before,’ Hermione replied reassuringly.   
  
Okay, she hadn’t thrown up then. But she really felt in better shape now than those times when Lord Voldemort had attacked her mind. Somehow, she knew they were nowhere near the danger zone of her mind collapsing, yet. Besides, she really wanted to learn how to do this, and like Professor Dumbledore had said, there was little time.  
  
‘That settles it,’ Dumbledore decided.   
  
‘Hell no, it doesn’t,’ Volkova told him forcefully. ‘Excuse us,’ she said over her shoulder to Hermione, stepping to Albus and dragging him by his arm to the fireplace at the same time. Her wand flashed. ‘Muffliato!’ she cast.   
  
‘Albus, you’re taking a huge risk. She’s only recently learned how to do normal Occlumency. Compartmentalising ordinarily wouldn’t be taught until someone’s been a Master at Occlumency for five years, because by then, they know their mind and its boundaries. We, on the other hand, are rushing through the theory at lightspeed, tackling the practise like there is no tomorrow. She really is untrained, Albus, you can’t forget that – no matter how talented she is. If her mind goes haywire, there is no telling where she will take you. I may not be able to get to you on time.’  
  
‘I’m aware of the risk, Ljudmila. However, it exists every time we do this, not just at the end of a session.’  
  
‘You know very well that when a mind gets tired, it’s more likely to occur. Look at her.’  
  
Dumbledore glanced sideways to Hermione, eyeing her physique up and down. ‘I think we’re good.’  
  
Dropping her shoulders, Volkova shook her head. ‘You’re forgetting that you won’t get many if any signals before her mind snaps.’  
  
‘And you’re forgetting Hermione had Tom attacking her mind for the last couple of weeks over and over again. He would’ve stopped on time. Seeing Hermione is not at all concerned about the time we’ve been practising already, it’s obvious they went at it much longer. And he was attacking her memories; I’m just stepping inside where she wants me to be. It’s a lot less invasive.’  
  
‘Typical Legilimens statement.’  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘To think it only takes energy to block an attack. She has to try to keep you in, which is a constant struggle – especially to an untrained mind. I am sorry, Albus, but this is just as invasive, if not more so, than a full-blown Stage Three Strike. And would you be trying Stage Three Legilimency on a mind capable of compartmentalising for more than …’ –she checked the time again– ‘an hour?’  
  
‘No, I wouldn’t.’  
  
Triumphantly, Ljudmila raised her hands as if she made her point.   
  
‘But the risk would be hers then not mine,’ Dumbledore added.   
  
‘Albus,’ Volkova objected.  
  
‘You can and will protect  _ **her**_  mind at all costs, Ljudmila. We talked about this beforehand.’  
  
‘If I have to sever your mental link like that, you’ll turn into a vegetable. Plants don’t teach anything. So, if you want her to learn this, may I recommend not risking your hide?’  
  
Dumbledore wiggled his wand before her eyes. ‘What risk?’   
  
Ljudmila looked at the elder wood and sighed. ‘The nature of the Elder Wand isn’t particularly pleasant. You’re putting too much faith in that evil trinket.’  
  
‘If I were, you wouldn’t be here.’  
  
Silence fell between them.   
  
‘True,’ she finally acknowledged, nodding. ‘You’re sure about this?’  
  
‘Absolutely.’  
  
Waving her hand through the air to disable the Muffling Charm, she walked to the armchair standing a little to the side between Hermione and Dumbledore and sat down again – her wand at the ready.   
  
‘We’re continuing?’ Hermione asked hopefully.  
  
‘Yes, if that’s all right with you?’ Dumbledore asked, eyeing her seriously.  
  
‘Of course it is.’  
  
‘Very well. Now remember: this is your mind, your environment. There doesn’t have to be a door or a window.’  
  
‘Or a key,’ Hermione added, her face set disgruntled about her error.  
  
‘Exactly,’ Dumbledore said smiling. ‘When the concept of a key entered your mind, all I had to do was concentrate on it being in my hand. Everything you think of can be used as a weapon against you. Don’t let me manipulate the environment you created. You dictate the rules.’  
  
Concentrated, Hermione nodded. Her eyes were downcast thoughtfully.   
  
Dumbledore raised his wand at her. ‘As we did before, whenever you’re ready setting the environment again, meet my eyes.’  
  
 _Okay, Azkaban._    
  
The pictures she’d seen of the prison in books and the Daily Prophet returned before her mind’s eye: rough water around the island and the building standing dead centre. Quickly, her imagination entered it through the frontdoor, moving along to the deepest, darkest cell. After she walked inside, the door shut behind her and vanished. There was nothing but solid rock around her: no windows, doors, keyholes and keys this time. Hearing the weather rage outside, she checked one last time if everything was ready to go to receive an additional prisoner. Satisfied, her head rose and looked up at the ceiling in which a funnel formed. This time she would keep him in at all cost.   
  
When she’d looked up at the ceiling in her mind, she’d looked up in reality, too, meeting Albus Dumbledore’s eyes.  
  
‘Legilimens!’ he cast.   
  
The funnel spit out his body and he landed on the floor in front of her in a crumbled up heap.   
  
 _Oops._  Hermione cringed upon witnessing how hurt he was.  _Perhaps I was a bit too pissed about my failure before?_  
  
‘Sorry,’ she muttered shamefully, hoping he was going to be all right.   
  
‘No need, no need.’ He jumped to his feet in an overly agile move. ‘I thank you for taking my health under consideration, though it would have been more helpful to your goals if I were to stay incapacitated on the floor.’  
  
 _Oh crap. Hadn’t thought of that._  
  
‘Now,’ he said, looking around interested, ‘what have we here?’  
  
 _Absolutely nothing for you to use, just thick walls of solid rock everywhere._  
  
‘Nice weather outside,’ he commented, strolling away from her. ‘Lightning is such a destructive force, wouldn’t you agree?’  
  
Comprehension filled her mind a split-second before the bolt struck their cell and she got blasted of her feet. He was gone again.  
  
‘I know, I know!’ Hermoine cried out on the floor of the Burrow in anger, slapping it with the palm of her hand. ‘Dammit.’  
  
‘An immediate and completely unassisted return to reality,’ Dumbledore said, sounding extremely satisfied.  
  
Ljudmila ignored him and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Look at me, Hermione. I need to check if you’re all right.’  
  
‘Never better,’ she sneered, snapping her head up in aggravation.   
  
‘Rein that dark power in right now, Hermione. Fast.’   
  
The seriousness in Ljudmila Volkova’s face made Hermione pause. Was the woman right? Was she tapping into her darker side now? Pushing her aggravation aside, she quickly checked herself. Her eyes widened when she felt the stirrings inside of her.   
  
 _Oh crap. Hell no._    
  
Trying to do what she’d always done before whenever she felt her dark powers rising, Hermione focused her mind on containing it inside of her. The darkness stirred in her chest, dancing around the magical node angrily. It wanted out. It wanted to act. It wanted to defeat Albus Dumbledore. Now.   
  
Hermione clutched to her hair, clenching her eyes together, fighting the magic inside. She needed it to return into the node.   
  
It wasn’t working.   
  
She couldn’t get it to go back inside and settle down as she’d done a million times before. Today, it danced around her countermeasures in circles, jumped through hoops to evade them, and laughed joyously at her ineffectiveness.  
  
 _‘You need to learn real control not this evasiveness practise.’_  
  
Her eyes darkened as she recalled Lord Voldemort’s words, especially since he conveniently hadn’t got around learning her real control before she left. Her temper rose.  _Manipulative, controlling, overbearing, son of a–_  
  
‘No, Ljudmila, don’t!’   
  
Brilliant white light blinded Hermione, surrounding her on all sides and forcing its way inside painfully. Skating over her nerves’ endings, it rushed to her centre from every direction. An animalistic, threatening, warning growl came from her expanding darkness. The shadow grew rapidly, breaching the feeble walls she’d erected to keep it contained. Panic overcame Hermione’s mind. Her darkness was getting out! It was leaving again!   
  
Billowing ferociously, her darkness rolled outward, enlarging itself like a predator before an attack. The clash was inevitable. Darkness met light and was evaporated in its path. She was unaware of the tormenting yell that left her lips as she clutched to her chest in agony, doubling over as her magical node sustained a direct hit. It was as if someone had stabbed a ragged knife in her heart. So much pain, she couldn’t bare it. Tears sprang in her eyes. The pain was too sharp. It had to stop. It was too powerful, too bright, and too white for her. Despite its odd familiarity, she couldn’t put it anywhere. It wasn’t hers. It didn’t fit her node. It was destroying it, shredding it to pieces till nothing remained.  
  
 _Someone make it stop!_  
  
Tilting her body and head backwards, a desperate cry left her lips. Something hard and comfortingly warm landed against the clasped hands on her chest. Panicking, her fingers clutched around it as if this item on a chain were her only lifeline. Subconsciously, she pressed it to her chest.  
  
‘Ljudmila, enough!’ Dumbledore’s warning echoed strangely as if Hermione’s ears were malfunctioning.   
  
Green fire erupted in her hand. The heat spread through Hermione’s fingers and forced its way inside of her along the edges of the pain. It was dulling it, soothing it. Slowly, the heat rose further and further, encapsulating around her node: melting the pieces together. Its green flames emitted a black smoke that darkened the severity of the brightness, shifting it to something she recognised and could place. Her node had no difficulty absorbing all the magic and putting it to rest. The sudden, cool calmness felt blissful. No more pain, no more stirrings. Ideal.   
  
Breathing heavily, Hermione became aware of her surroundings again. Aware of the living room. Aware of Volkova squatted in front of her, eyeing her pleased. Aware of Dumbledore standing on the side with his wand drawn, looking extremely alarmed. But everything and everyone had a green sheen around them. Why was everything green? What was wrong with her eyes?  
  
‘Ljudmila, now would be a good moment to back away – look out!’   
  
The delicate hand that had been on her shoulder the whole time got torn away when a crackling noise accompanied the bolt that left the pendant and smashed into the silvery shield Dumbledore had erected in front of Volkova’s chest. There was so much force behind the attack that the elderly witch got tossed through the air and crashed into the wall, hitting her head before tumbling down on the ground. Through the green light of the slowly settling pendant, Hermione witnessed Albus Dumbledore standing with his wand drawn, holding his Shield Charm active around Volkova until the pendant had died out completely, before he ran to check on the violently coughing witch.   
  
‘Is she all right?’ Hermione asked, worried.   
  
She took a step forward to help, and then, halted – not sure it was a good idea for her to get closer. Her eyes flicked to the pendant in her hand. It was black again, resting there as if nothing had happened. The perfect portrayal of a harmless, innocent jewel: a well-executed act. Well, its maker had plenty of experience with pretences.   
  
‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ Ljudmila said, waving away Dumbledore’s help as she scrambled back to her feet. ‘I do believe, however, that she’s had enough for today, Albus.’  
  
‘I agree,’ he said, looking back at Hermione. ‘You made a lot of progress.’  
  
Hermione made a face.  
  
‘Yes, you did,’ Dumbledore said, walking to her. ‘We’ve only been doing this for a couple of days now and already you’re able to snap out of the illusion by yourself.’  
  
‘But my magic …’ Hermione trailed off, looking at him with concern spread all over her face. Since the night she’d broken the windows, she’d had no more incidents with her darkness. Silly dreams, yes. But no more outburst beyond her control. She wasn’t thrilled that happened again.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. He gestured at her to take a seat and sat down next to her. ‘Everyone has darkness inside of him, Hermione. It’s how you handle it that defines who you are.’  
  
‘I don’t know how to handle it. It’s handling me.’  
  
‘It’s handling you, because you’re afraid of it. You lock it away.’  
  
‘What else am I to do? If I don’t lock it up, people get hurt.’  
  
‘As a Keeper–’  
  
Hermione dropped her head in her hands and groaned in irritation.   
  
‘Yes,’ he chuckled. ‘You may get tired of hearing it. Still, it is imperative you learn. If you don’t, your darkness can and will consume you. You’re too powerful a witch to be able to ignore the parts of yourself you wished weren’t yours.’  
  
‘I’m not ignoring my darker side. I’m afraid of it. Every time it gets out, something bad happens and I can’t keep it under control.’  
  
Dumbledore nodded. ‘You lack experience in dealing with it. For most people, light magic is something we practise with from an early age on. We hone our skills in it and learn to deal with it in such detail it gradually becomes an integral part of you. As you grew, your light powers grew with you, enabling you to keep them under control since you used them on a daily basis. The powers are so familiar to us we don’t even have to think about how and when we use them. Our darker qualities, on the other hand, are not admired in society. When they surface, we get scolded by our parents, teachers and peers. So, we learn to bury them where no one can see. As such, we create an imbalance between our understanding of our dark magic and the power it grows to hold as we grow up. It’s this imbalance which is crippling you right now.’  
  
‘Because I haven’t explored how the handle the darker side of me when I was younger, it has become so powerful I can no longer explore it safely,’ Hermione said pensively.   
  
‘Exactly.’  
  
‘I’m so screwed,’ she muttered darkly.  
  
‘Not really,’ Dumbledore said cheerfully. ‘It’s all in the–’  
  
‘Albus,’ Volkova interrupted sternly. She had folded her arms over each other and glared at him warningly.  
  
He snapped his mouth shut and sighed, shaking his head.  
  
‘You’re not the girl’s guide, Albus,’ Volkova added softly. ‘I can justify teaching compartmentalising as a part of Hogwarts’ curriculum to the others, but if you start involving her path, this arrangement is over and I will report you.’  
  
Abruptly, Dumbledore rose from his seat and turned to the elderly witch. Hermione froze in shock. Her eyes widened as she felt the air around her had altered significantly. Dumbledore’s magic was something she could always sense. His magical aura was too powerful to miss. Only now its character had shifted – it felt dangerous, angry … and  _dark?_  Normally his power gave her a reassuring, safe feeling.   
  
What the hell happened?   
  
Her eyes flickered to the witch, who was still standing there as if she nothing was happening. Surely, Keeper Volkova felt the change? Why wasn’t she taking a more defensive posture? Hermione knew she would have if Dumbledore turned to her like that. She shook her head, trying to shake her ridiculous thoughts out of her mind. Surely, Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t attack the woman. They’d obviously known each other for a very long time and were always friendly to one another.   
  
Volkova quirked an eyebrow and smiled at Dumbledore. ‘I know you disagree with the rules, Albus, but they’re there for a reason.’  
  
‘It’s a stupid rule,’ he said in a clipped tone of voice.  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Finally something she could agree with.  
  
Volkova shrugged carelessly. ‘You find all our rules stupid, if I’m not mistaken.’ The woman turned her back to him and walked to the dresser where her bag stood. ‘For Hermione’s sake, you shouldn’t disregard this one,’ she warned, as she ruffled through her bag – completely ignoring the dark aura around Dumbledore.   
  
 _What?! No, no, let him disregard this one. Answers, Merlin knows I can use some._  
  
Ljudmila Volkova turned around with a red, tattered book in hand. Upon seeing the book, Dumbledore burst out in laughter. The static in the air around Hermione altered in quality immediately. His magic felt normal again: light.   
  
‘Oh please, Ljudmila, that book holds no proof whatsoever,’ he said, chuckling.  
  
‘Hermione can decide that by herself,’ Ljudmila huffed, as she walked back and held out the book to Hermione.   
  
Hermione glanced at the title and author, and then, bit her lip to suppress her laughter. It was Cassandra Trelawney’s book. Volkova didn’t notice her expression, because she was focusing on Dumbledore as she said, ‘You can’t give a student Ignatius’s book and not show them there is another perspective to the subject.’  
  
‘Ignatius proved exactly what Divination is and isn’t,’ Dumbledore replied, amused. ‘Cassandra’s work is not disproving his statements. She didn’t do any research on outcomes.’  
  
‘Divination is an Art not science. You can’t apply its methodology on it.’  
  
‘And there ends all sane arguments,’ Dumbledore said, sharing an amused glance with Hermione.  
  
‘You’re indoctrinating your student into believing Divination is worthless. That is not good teaching practise, Albus.’  
  
‘Oh, I sincerely doubt I need to indoctrinate Hermione about the tremendous value of Divination,’ Dumbledore said mockingly.  
  
Hermione snorted, and then, started giggling.   
  
‘See, see, she’s already been influenced,’ Volkova said, annoyed, and pushed the book in Hermione’s hands. ‘You read this with an open mind, my dear. And you will come to understand the craft of true Divination is not to be underestimated.’  
  
Hermione’s expression spoke volumes as Volkova paced to the door. Dumbledore leaned towards her and whispered, ‘And they say intelligence is an important quality for a Keeper.’  
  
The room filled with their combined laughter. Volkova looked over her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You two should be more open-minded about things beyond your comprehension.’  
  
‘Did your crystal ball inform you of that?’ Hermione joked, placing her hands on the book in her lap.   
  
‘No, she’s more of a tealeaf starer,’ Dumbledore added humorously. He spread his arms wide. ‘Behold … doom will fall upon the Divination Disbelievers.’  
  
‘Oh, nicely pessimistic and vague: two out of the three necessities of a prophecy according to Ignatius,’ Hermione complimented.   
  
‘I’m sure I got all three,’ Dumbledore objected. ‘I didn’t specify a timetable for the impending doom.’  
  
‘I stand corrected,’ Hermione acknowledged, nodding courteously. ‘Three out of three: a true Seer is born. The future’s been told.’  
  
‘Gah,’ Ljudmila grunted, making a disparaging gesture to the laughing couple in the living room. ‘You’re both impossible. I don’t know why I bother.’  
  
Ljudmila Volkova was long gone before Hermione and Dumbledore were done laughing.   
  
\---  
  
When Hermione returned to the garden from her practise session with Dumbledore, she noticed Harry was missing at the table. It was just Ginny, Ron and Fleur.  
  
‘Where is Harry?’ she asked Ginny, sitting down next to her.  
  
‘Talking to Moody again,’ Ginny replied.   
  
‘Why?’ Hermione sighed.   
  
She’d hoped Harry would’ve given up by now. Yet, he hadn’t stopped pursuing the issue of Dumbledore’s explanation as to why the windows broke and his own observations concerning the familiarity of the magic with the time the sky had blackened.   
  
‘Alastor had sometheeng to discuss vith ’eem,’ Fleur answered cheerfully. ‘Probably security matters for your treep tomorrov.’  
  
 _Probably not,_  Hermione thought.   
  
Moody’d been the only one who’d taken Harry seriously. She’d already spoken to Professor Dumbledore about Harry and Moody’s ideas, but he’d shrugged it aside and told her not to worry. He’d deal with it if it became a real issue. She felt it already was an issue. Harry wasn’t one to stop digging once he felt he was right about something. And Moody saw conspiracies everywhere. It was no wonder they found each other now. There actually was a real conspiracy going on. Her conspiracy.  
  
Hermione groaned, causing Ron to smile at her knowingly. He clearly was under the impression she also had had enough of Harry’s silly suggestions and was on their side. Both Ron and Ginny had taken an opposite position to Harry’s idea that Dumbledore was hiding something important. So far, Hermione had kept a low profile in their discussions, not really taking a position on the issue. She felt she couldn’t. Harry wasn’t wrong after all. And she was worried her face would show that if she participated.   
  
‘How did your lesson with Dumbledore go?’ asked Ginny, interested.   
  
Hermione shrugged. ‘He was pleased. I don’t think I made much progress.’ An idea sprung to mind. She really wasn’t looking forward to listening to another discussion about the windows when Harry returned, and she still needed to do some of the “homework” Voldemort had given her. ‘As a matter of fact, I think I am going to go practise.’   
  
She signalled with her eyes to the shed to Ginny and Ron, and they both caught on what she was trying to convey.   
  
‘Do you need us to help?’ Ron asked, rising from his seat hopefully.  
  
‘No, I need to do this alone.’ She smiled at him. ‘You know … preparations for tomorrow.’  
  
‘Ah, okay,’ he said, slumping back in his seat.  
  
‘We’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,’ Ginny said.  
  
‘Yeah,’ Ron concurred.  
  
‘Thanks.’ Quickly, Hermione darted upstairs, got her book, disillusioned herself and made her way to their hideout to practise.   
  
It wasn’t till much later that all hell broke loose at the Burrow.  
  
The entire Weasley family, Harry, Fleur, Remus, and Moody were chatting animatedly at the tables in the garden, while Arthur tried out a Muggle barbecue to make them some evening snacks. He blackened the meat to a crisp, until Harry showed him how to use it properly. The chicken wings then came back red on the inside and Molly waved her wand behind Arthur’s back to cook them magically. Everyone kept quiet while Arthur boosted about his prowess in using Muggle items. It was a beautiful summer evening, and everyone had a lot of fun. When Molly rose to bring Hermione a plate, Ron quickly took it from her and said he’d bring it to Hermione. Harry and Ginny let out a relieved breath when Molly let him take it upstairs. Hermione wasn’t there after all.  
  
 **BANG!**  
  
George tumbled backwards from his chair. Arthur tossed over the barbecue. And several others jumped to their feet, shocked as a wave of darkness blasted the shed away. Moody cast a protective charm over them, but it was unnecessary. The darkness was suddenly enveloped in a green light and halted at its position. Harry doubled up, clutching in pain to his scar.   
  
‘Harry!’ Remus shouted, making his way to him.   
  
However, a roaring sound filled the air, demanding everyone’s attention when the green light morphed into a skull high in the sky and a visible snake swirled around the darkness, pushing it inward.   
  
‘Hermione!’ Harry yelled, yanking himself out of Remus’s grasp as he pulled his wand and raced to the shed – Ginny following right behind him.  
  
‘Ginny!’ Molly screamed fearfully.  
  
Everyone started running after them.  
  
Crack!  
  
Albus Dumbledore apparated between Harry and the Dark Mark. Harry ducked, trying to avoid being caught. Still, Dumbledore managed to grab him by his collar and yanked him back. Ginny halted beside them.   
  
‘Hermione is there!’ Harry yelled panicking, pointing at the dark cloud encircled by the green Dark Mark. ‘And so is  _he_! I can sense him. He’s got Hermione!’  
  
\---


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**  
  
After she’d excused herself at the table to Ron, Ginny and Fleur, Hermione took a detour to her destination. First, she went to Ginny’s bedroom in a very visible manner, taking expert note to find out where Alastor Moody was. Fortunately, he was with Harry in Fred and George’s room on the second floor and Ginny’s bedroom was on the first. As long as he wasn’t looking out the window with his magical eye when she crossed the yard, she’d be fine.   
  
Quickly, she disillusioned herself, grabbed the book she needed, and walked stealthily to the little secluded area behind the broom shed. The shed protected her from immediate view of the Burrow, and as she wriggled through the overgrown bushes and trees, she knew she could not be spotted from any direction once she reached the tiny open spot. A trickling of warmth ran down her body when she undid the Disillusionment Charm. Satisfied she’d made it, Hermione sat down on the barren ground. Hardly any light made it through here, making it necessary to conjure a blue bell flame as usual and let it hover in the air above her.   
  
Relieved she could continue her studies, she pulled out “Stretching Magical Boundaries, The Dark Arts” and tapped the book with her wand. The pages swirled by, until they stopped at the chapter, which she’d ended up reading the last time. Her eyes scanned the text about enforcing your will upon inanimate objects again. Not that it was unnecessary for her to reread it. She recalled every word of it. So, she pocketed the book and rose to her feet, her wand still in her hand. Shaking her shoulders loose and closing her eyes, her mind went over everything she’d learnt so far from Lord Voldemort about controlled casting. She made her wand tap against her leg subconsciously before letting out a deep breath and opening her eyes. Her wrist hardly moved to make her wand do a tiny swish.  
  
‘Accio toy dog!’   
  
She’d cast at the shed, knowing Mr. Weasley had an old, broken-down, battery-operated, toy dog among his immense Muggle collection. It was one of those things that walked and barked, and you got bored with rather easily. It landed in her hands in a flash. Smiling about the speed in which summoned items came to her these days, Hermione placed it on the ground carefully, and it stayed standing despite its crooked paw. She circled her wand above her head.   
  
‘Protego Totalum!’   
  
She didn’t want anyone noticing her slightly illegal practise session – not with all these Aurors swarming around the Burrow. Still, she had to practise. She was only here for two weeks and if she got back to Lord Voldemort without having made any progress on her studies, it was bound to end incredibly painful for her. She didn’t much fancy being on the receiving end of his wand when he was pissed.   
  
Focusing her mind on what she wanted the toy to do, she pointed her wand at the dog. ‘Volantio!’  
  
Nothing happened.   
  
Hermione growled and pulled out the book again to recheck if she did the curse right. But she had been right in her pronunciation, and you weren’t supposed to do any wand movements at all with this spell. It was just cast and aim. So, that wasn’t the reason it hadn’t worked. The only thing it could be was that she hadn’t willed it hard enough. She really needed to  _want_ the dog to walk above anything else.   
  
Raising her wand, Hermione tried again, and again, and again, and again.   
  
Frustrated, when all it did was twitch occasionally, she kicked the stupid dog against the shed’s wall. It bounced back effortlessly, rolling to her feet as if daring her to repeat the action. Anger bubbled up inside of her. She’d done all the other spells in the book easily when she’d still been inside those chambers underneath Riddle mansion. Sure, occasionally Voldemort had given her some minor pointers, while that annoying snake of his had been hissing in an obviously gleeful manner whenever she’d failed to do something right immediately. But never before had she had no result whatsoever.   
  
Why wasn’t this working? Surely, she willed it hard enough by now? Stupid toy dog. How dare it disobey her commands? It was a thing for crying out loud – a silly item, which little children found tedious after having seen it walk and bark for an hour or so. An ignorant thing like that should do as she said easily. Her lip set in a thin line, her eyes ablaze, she pointed her wand and repeated the curse. Something noticeably clicked inside of her. Unable to stop it and not really feeling like it, because she wanted that damn dog to bloody well move now, her dark power left her wand with a vengeance, and she smirked satisfactory when the broken paw clicked into place and the dog began moving around her.   
  
 _Finally._  
  
At first she made it do the normal things it was designed to do, then, she got creative and made it dig holes, climb trees, bow into impossible angles, chew on the shed’s wooden wall, raise its hind paw as if it peed, fetch a garden gnome and shake it around before biting its disproportional large head off. The head rolled away, while the headless eight inch remains fell to the ground like a ragdoll, unmoving, still, and …  ** _dead!_**  
  
Her breath stuck in her throat, and she felt herself grow cold when she realised she’d killed the creature. She’d killed a living being!   
  
 _Oh God, oh God, oh God …_  
  
Little drops of sweat formed on her forehead. She began breathing heavily, while her wand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground.   
  
‘No, no, no,’ she repeated under her breath, panicking, clutching to her hair.   
  
A desperate howl followed when she noticed the toy dog still moved and it chewed on the remains – powered by her magic despite her fallen wand.   
  
‘NO!’ she shouted, kicking it away, wanting it to stop, needing it to stop.   
  
She dropped to her knees. Her hands rummaged around, trying futilely to put the incomplete bits of the garden gnome back together again. When the relentless toy dog charged at those bits again, the fury and despair she felt inside was not containable. Rising to her feet, she grabbed her wand and flashed it, determined to destroy that dog once and for all.   
  
Destruction she got.   
  
The token dog exploded in a burst of blackness, yet her anger remained unsatisfied. It demanded more retribution. It wanted more to still the pain. Destroying that which had only been a puppet doing her bidding had not fed the craving. It enhanced it. She staggered on her feet as it grew inside her – the flow of dark magic expanded rapidly: beyond her control, beyond her sanity, and beyond everything deemed safe.   
  
Vaguely her mind registered the green glow and the heat coming from the pendant against her chest. Then, all she saw was dark smoke, whirling out of her, causing her to cough as it put her blue bell flame out and plunged her into darkness. She screamed in fury when her magic stayed circling around her body, unable to expand beyond some invisible wall that it pounced against.   
  
Her magic needed to get out. It wanted its freedom. It had to destroy that stupid wall!   
  
More power, she needed more power. Her dark magic demanded more power and got what it wanted. A burst of black lightning charged out of her wand. Its force was accompanied by a sharp pain in her chest. Her left hand grabbed her chest over her heart. She wasn’t well. Her body trembled; she suddenly felt sick. She swaggered, trying to breathe. She needed fresh air. All that dark smoke around her … it was suffocating her. It was killing her. Feeling light-headed, dizziness overcame her and her legs gave way.   
  
Strong arms caught her and pulled her flaccid body against his chest. Recognising his scent, she buried her cold, perspiring face in his black robes – her fingers curled around the fabric and held onto it like it was her only lifeline.   
  
‘Hermione?’ his voice whispered above her.  
  
Yes, cold, his voice was the perfect example to how she felt. It was so cold, like she’d never be warm again. Shivering, she snuggled farther against him. He was warm, like a nice hot stove or an electric blanket. Merlin, she needed the heat. Her bones and organs were freezing.   
  
‘Hermione.’  
  
Annoyance was overly present in his tone of voice that sounded a lot farther away than before. She grinned. She really didn’t care about his mood swings. Everything was going to be just fine. She was just fine. She felt just fine, peaceful, at ease.  
  
‘Granger, breathe.’  
  
 _Too much smoke, far too much smoke. Smoke is what kills you in a fire. You shouldn’t inhale it_ , her dazed mind reminded her. So, she stuttered that in his clothes. ‘S-s-smoke.’  
  
‘Look at me, Hermione.’  
  
No, she shouldn’t breathe. It wasn’t safe. Besides, she liked where she was now. She didn’t need to breathe here. It felt safe in his arms, comfortable. No need to return to reality. Reality sucked. One of those arms tightened his grip on her waist.   
  
 _Nice._  
  
She didn’t notice that his other arm let go of her, and a yelp left her lips when his now free hand yanked her head back roughly by her hair. Red orbs danced through her vision. Did he have four eyes? That wasn’t right.   
  
His growl vibrated via his chest through her body. She closed her eyes, focusing on that unusual but pleasurable sensation. It was like all her senses were heightened.  
  
A velvet brush of lips against hers made them feel tingly. She opened her mouth slightly with a sigh. A teasing caress of his tongue wetted her dry lips before he sucked briefly on her upper lip. It made her eager for more, and she tried tilting her head – yet the moment she did, his hand took over the movement for her and he deepened the kiss. She couldn’t recall ever being kissed like this. Heat travelled from his mouth to hers, moving down fast to her chest and onward from there, warming her entire body and most of all the cockles of her heart.   
  
A shudder of ecstasy travelled through her body. A moan left her lips, as she responded to that delicious thing he was doing to her tongue now. Her hands slid over his lean body and wrapped around his neck before caressing his skull. A low, guttural noise erupted from deep within his throat, turning his kiss more feral. His hold on her increased, like he was trying to meld their bodies into one being, and she wrapped her dangling legs around him, trying to do the same. She could feel every line of his body pressed against hers, as he undoubtedly could feel hers, and it enhanced the intensity in which they sucked on each other’s tongue more and more.   
  
She was unaware of her surroundings. Unaware of the dark clouds that swirled around them, obscuring them from sight, as his mark bellowed around the outside, warding the area thoroughly and making sure her magic wouldn’t escape its confinement. She was unaware of the danger she’d been in, launching all her dark magic out like that. She shouldn’t have been so ignorant to do that. He’d explicitly warned her about the risks. Lord Voldemort didn’t enjoy having to repeat himself –  _normally._  
  
Still, he did enjoy feeling how her chest rose and fell against his. He’d forced her to breathe through him first, but now her responses were a clear sign that she’d started breathing normally again. The immediate threat to her life was gone.  
  
However, he kind of liked what they were doing at the moment and she was still rather cold to the touch, so he didn’t disengage their kiss. Instead, he massaged her spine with his wandhand’s finger and thumb, shoving magic into her central nervous system directly. He could feel her body responding as he stimulated different parts of it, while he slowly moved down from the top of her spinal cord to the lowest vertebra, causing Hermione to buck against him violently.   
  
Her ecstatic scream got muffled by his mouth, while her whole body trembled with little aftershocks of the orgasm he just gave her. Smugly, he released her lips and looked down at the little witch in his arms, wrapped around his body. Her cheeks were flushed and she panted heavily, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes. He pecked her nose with his index finger and chuckled.   
  
‘Hot enough now?’ he teased, gently stroking the hair away from her face that stuck to her perspiring skin before combing his widespread fingers through her soft curls.  
  
She kept staring at him with that same surprised expression, making him smirk in response.   
  
‘How, what, why?’ she uttered, looking around confused.   
  
His smirk broadened.  
  
‘What happened?’ Hermione muttered to herself, releasing her legs from his waist and regaining her footing. ‘Where am I?’ she asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.   
  
‘Still at the Burrow,’ he replied, his eyes glittering in anticipation of her reaction to  _that._  
  
‘WHAT!’ Her fist collided hard with his upper arm. ‘How did you get in here?’ She took another swing. ‘You said you couldn’t get through those wards. You unbelievable–’   
  
He caught her arm before she could strike him again, and then, grabbed the other one as well upon noticing its movement. While her mouth was actively bestowing all kinds of unflattering descriptions to him, he forced her arms to her back till he had both her wrists held tightly in one hand. His wand flashed, casting a non-verbal Silencing Charm.   
  
Really, his ears were whistling from her shrieking.   
  
However, that didn’t stop her completely since she was looking him in the eye and deliberately continued  _thinking_  what she’d been saying. And since  _he_  taught her Occlumency, he knew she didn’t need to share her thoughts. Such inappropriate language, especially since it concerned him. He shook his head. It must be the insipid redhead’s dastardly influence.   
  
Merlin, how much longer could she go on?   
  
From the look on her face, he estimated quite some time. Her eyes sparkled; her messy bush of hair had tufts sticking out in every direction, and her cheeks were flushed. She was positively appealing this way. Such spirit. If he could get her on his side fully, which he had no doubt he would, she’d be an amazing asset. In so many ways. And he did have her trapped in his arms now … There were lots of things he could do to that delicious little body of hers.  
  
 _What are you smiling about, you lying arse?_  
  
His amusement skyrocketed. Here was this little thing; the top of her head barely reached his chin, having the nerve to call him, Lord Voldemort, names. And she knew what he was capable of. She’d felt his Cruciatus Curse before. Tough, little broad. Brave too.   
  
 _Think you can fool everybody into doing your bidding? Pretending to guide me, while you’re plotting behind my back to use my powers,_  her mind snarled.  
  
It seemed she’d spoken with Potter. Oh well, he had expected that.   
  
 _And what was that about the power being all yours for the taking?_  
  
Okay, she was getting a bit too close to the truth. He had to find some method to distract her from this line of thinking.   
  
 _I suppose you think that by fucking someone, their brains will magically stop functioning._  
  
Ooooh, good idea. She did have excellent suggestions. After all,  _he_  was sustaining her bodily functions right now with his magic. Hers was still floating out there, stuck between barriers he erected. Well, only her dark magic was, but her nodes wouldn’t function on her light magic alone. That was a tad odd in itself. He’d never before seen someone who needed both light and dark magic to remain alive. Most people used one source.   
  
His forehead wrinkled; he wondered if he should investigate this further but decided it could wait till later. Right now, he needed to restore some of the influence he’d had on her before. Considering her fragile position right now, that shouldn’t be too hard. He ignored how she was scolding and mocking him by using his own ideology against him and emphasising on her despicable blood status. She had no idea how dependant she was on him at this very moment.   
  
He smirked.   
  
She was about to find out.   
  
Lord Voldemort concentrated, flexing his magic inside Hermione’s nodes. Tendrils of it swirled out, moving over her nerves to every cell of her body in an overwhelming rush. She blinked. Her eyes glazed over. Her mouth fell slightly ajar, as her brain shut down – focusing on the high he just placed her on.   
  
He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, ‘You were saying …  _Mudblood?_ ’   
  
His voice, deliberately demeaning, had an unusual effect. Hermione felt herself grow wet beyond belief.   
  
‘Of course your powers are meant to serve me, your master. You don’t really believe the likes of you can be trusted with its uses?’  
  
Her blood pounded harder and harder in her nether regions with every word he spoke, as if his voice was magnifying the hold he had on her, forcing her to slip further and further away from all rational thoughts until all that remained was her desire. A desire for him. A desire that needed satisfaction desperately. She had to have him inside of her. She wanted him to take her in whatever way he pleased. She wanted to please him. Do anything – everything.   
  
‘I’ve let you out of my sight for a few days and look what happens: You lose control like a common Muggle,’ he hissed, blowing his breath deliberately along the line of her neck.  
  
She shivered. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin. The ache he placed inside her rose and rose. She tried to kiss him, but he pulled her head back roughly by her hair – not allowing her the initiative or the contact. Since he held her wrists tightly on her back, she couldn’t use her hands, yet she had other body parts available. Instinctively, Hermione pressed her lower abdomen harder against his pelvis. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt his arousal. It immediately made her rub her body against him.   
  
A vicious, evil chuckle left his lips – a chuckle that would have made ordinary men and women run for the hills, dig a hole for themselves, and never ever get out of it again for the rest of their lives. Hermione let out a soundless moan and wrapped her legs around his body instead, not realising they were still fully clothed and this wouldn’t get her anywhere.   
  
‘Why, Granger, you little slut,’ he sneered. ‘You want your master’s cock, don’t you?’  
  
She couldn’t speak or nod, yet she tried to move her head anyway. Tears sprung in her eyes from the strain she put on her hair roots since he didn’t release his grip an inch. Her mind and body screamed ‘ _yes, yes, YES!_ ’ at him, causing a self-satisfied smirk to appear on his snakelike face.   
  
‘Right here,’ he spoke in a dangerously low, seductive voice, ‘at the Burrow … in front of all your … “ _friends_ ”.’  
  
Closing her eyes, her expression turned slack with a longing so overwhelming she couldn’t see straight –  _think_  straight.   
  
‘You want …  _need_  to be conquered by Lord Voldemort,’ he continued, as his magic violently ripped her shirt to shreds. ‘Marked as mine.’ He grazed his teeth along the curve of her neck and shoulder.  
  
 _Please, yes,_  her mind groaned.  
  
Triumphantly, he bit her there, allowing the blood to trickle down her back and chest in small streams. His gaze intensified, watching how her white, lace bra stained red. Abruptly, he yanked her head back, pulling her upper body in a nearly impossible backwards arch.   
  
‘Be shown to the world as mine,’ he breathed, licking the blood from her skin before words she could not understand slithered around her in smooth hisses. Magic coiled around her like a snake, capturing her even further as she begged him to continue. Audibly. He’d undone the Silencing Charm he’d placed on her.   
  
When? She had no idea. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the demands of her body.  
  
Teasingly, his tongue slithered over her chest, following the contours of her bra before he tracked its lace meticulously, drawing circles around her areola not touching her there where she most wanted him to. Her frustration built and built and built, until she could not take it anymore and she knew what he was waiting for her to acknowledge  _again._  
  
‘I’m yours, Master.’  
  
It was like an explosion went of in her head and cunt when he sucked on her nipple through her blood-stained bra.   
  
‘Yes! Oh God! Yes please, please. Please, my Lord, take me! Mark me. I’m yours. Show them,’ she begged loudly, not caring what the hell she said as long as this maddening craving got sated.  
  
He took her breast further in his mouth and bit down,  _hard_ , leaving visible teeth marks in the process. The pain made her buck against him again. Feelings of security and pride filled her, knowing he’d marked her as his. Still, she felt empty inside, oh so empty. She needed more. She needed him. A desperate cry left her lips when her hips met his, reaffirming that her trousers and his robes were still very much in the way. Viciously, he laughed out loud and raised his head to meet her eyes.   
  
‘Please, please, please.’  
  
‘Hush,’ he breathed against her lips. She immediately attempted to lick his mouth, and he backed away just out of her reach, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Did I give you permission to touch me, my pet?’ he said, his eyes glittering with devilish pleasure. ‘Answer me,’ he said threateningly when she remained quiet.   
  
‘N-no,’ Hermione stuttered, rubbing her groin against him for the friction.   
  
He rolled his eyes. ‘So eager to be taken, so little self-control,’ he hissed in a disapproving, mocking tone.  
  
‘I want to please you,’ she said meekly.   
  
He roared with laughter. ‘And such a naughty, little liar too,’ he sniggered. ‘I believe your mind is focused on your pleasure, isn’t it, my pet?’   
  
He paused, watching her thoughtfully. Hermione caught her breath, not knowing how to respond, how to make sure he’d finally fuck her. Then, magic swirled around them and she yelped when he suddenly levitated her into the air, naked, her wrist bounds by invisible shackles. Strolling casually and fully clothed around her, his long, spidery fingers trailed over her body, until he stopped at her opening.   
  
‘I can see I have to be a responsible master and teach you whose pleasure you should value from now on,’ he said barely above a whisper, and then, he pushed his robes to the side and penetrated her brutally.   
  
She couldn’t do anything but take his thrusts. It wasn’t making love; it was pure unadulterated sex. No emotion attached to it. He kept pounding roughly inside of her, and despite that she was wet, it was unbelievably painful every time he hit her cervix. With every thrust he made, his voice slithered around her, intoxicating her with his presence. He spoke something she couldn’t comprehend in that smooth, silky language of the snakes, coiling his magic inside and outside of her body. Her mind was stirring with conflicting thoughts and needs. She wanted him to stop, yet she wanted him to continue, to go even harder – to force her to yield and make that burning ache go away. She could feel she was nearly there. Almost. Just a little bit further.  
  
She was on the brink of falling into that pleasurable abyss when he spilt his release inside of her and withdrew quickly with the most evil expression she’d ever seen on his face. His robes closed around his body again and he just stood there, watching her shocked reaction pleased. Her eyes widened when she realised he wasn’t going to give her what she needed and she was still horny as hell. This was going to drive her mad!  
  
His smile broadened. ‘Yes, my pet,’ he said, patting her on the head condescendingly. ‘It’s time you learn to control your …  _urges_  and maintain a semblance of dignity if you wish me to master you.’   
  
With a wave of his hand, she was suddenly on her feet again; her wrecked clothes reassembled and flew around her body. She staggered, and he caught her in his arms.  _That_  was something she could fully support. Quickly, she wrapped her arms around him as well.   
  
‘Mmm… this,’ his hand closed around her bleeding throat, ‘is a bit too visible. It would be a shame to give old Dummies a heart attack when I’m not around to witness his reaction.’   
  
Her neck turned ice-cold, then, hot again, and when he removed his hand, her neck was healed and no longer held any trace of his previous bite mark. The one on her breast remained though. A low throbbing reminded her of its presence.   
  
‘Why doesn’t this ever hurt when you’re doing it?’ she asked, looking up at him.  
  
‘By stating the question you’ve given the answer,’ he replied loosely.   
  
She bit her lip. Her breast wasn’t the only thing throbbing uncomfortably and not nearly the most distracting place. Her groin was reminding her fully of what he hadn’t allowed her to experience. She didn’t think she’d ever felt this horny in her life, and it was obvious from his posture and stance, he wasn’t planning on relieving her of this ordeal. How on earth could she be around her friends like this?   
  
‘You won’t be interested in the likes of them,’ Voldemort’s smooth voice explained. ‘It’s me you want. And …’ he paused watching her expectantly, ‘you’ll only be able to get a release when and if I give you permission.’  
  
‘What do I need to do to get your permission?’ she asked timidly.   
  
‘Show me you can control yourself, Hermione.’  
  
She turned sideways, staring at the thick dark smog around them. She was utterly screwed. All she wanted to do right now was hump him. And what if he left? How would she feel then? What would she do, while in the presence of others? How would she be able to prove to him she could control herself when he wasn’t there? How long would he keep her in this state? She had so many things that needed doing. So many things she still needed to study, so many mysteries to solve – like that darkness around them.   
  
‘Why isn’t that smoke suffocating us?’ she asked curiously with a little tremble in her voice.  
  
‘That’s not smoke,’ he replied matter-of-factly, waving his wandhand through it to demonstrate. ‘This is magic, yours actually. You’ve shoved too much out of yourself.’ He grabbed her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his intense red gaze. ‘You could have died,’ he said seriously. ‘You almost did.’  
  
Hermione blinked, shocked. ‘I–I didn’t …’   
  
‘–mean to,’ he finished. ‘I know. What did I tell you about using the Dark Arts?’  
  
She bit her lip and tried to look down, but he tightened his grip on her jaw, pressing the tips of his fingers into her skin warningly.   
  
‘Answer me, Hermione,’ he said, staring directly into her eyes. His voice barely came above the lowest whisper, yet the threat lingering in it was as clear as crystal.  
  
‘To stay focused,’ she replied timidly.  
  
‘And …?’  
  
‘To not lose control.’  
  
He turned her head to the side before gesturing at the dark cloud around them.   
  
‘This is losing control, Granger. This doesn’t happen when someone is focused during their casting.’  
  
‘I am sorry. I–I,’ her voice broke when she recalled what she did to the gnome.   
  
He sighed. ‘What terrible thing did you do now besides airing out that stinking dumb?’  
  
‘K-k-killed a gnm.’  
  
‘Killed who?’ he snapped, frowning, while his eyes swept across the area, searching for beautiful dead Order bodies that were nowhere to be seen. Alas.  
  
However, nothing comprehensible came from her lips. He caught her gaze and snarled, ‘I don’t have time for this. No Occlumency or I will have to practise my Unforgivables’ skills on you.’  
  
His mouth curved when she handed him the information on a silver platter. ‘A garden gnome,’ he mocked. ‘You’re upset over a gnome.’ He snorted before laughing exuberantly.  
  
‘It’s not funny,’ Hermione said tight-lipped.   
  
‘Why, did you start a Gnome Liberation Front as well?’ he added, sniggering.  
  
She narrowed her eyes, which only heightened his amusement.   
  
‘It’s a living creature, and I killed it,’ she hissed, angry about his infuriating demeanour. It pushed away her hankering for him completely. She was really upset about this. Couldn’t he tell? Just because  ** _he_**  killed everything that moved in sight didn’t mean she should.  ** _She_** had feelings – feelings that right now where exhibiting an overwhelming need to hit him on his non-existing nose.   
  
He patted her on the head condescendingly. ‘Welcome to the dark side,’ he mocked. ‘We hate gnomes with a vengeance here.’ His laugh danced around her once more.   
  
Hermione shook her head, trying to ignore those taunting laughs – to shake them away. ‘I should never have used the Dark Arts to begin with,’ she said sadly. ‘I knew it.’  
  
‘Ever participated in turning this garden gnome-free? Because if you have, this isn’t the first gnome you killed.’  
  
‘That doesn’t kill them,’ she replied, gritting her teeth.   
  
Lord Voldemort sent her a pitying glance. ‘Do you really believe the “normal, authorised by the Ministry” gnome removal never causes any casualties? What would happen to you if I twirled you by your leg above my head and tossed you miles away, where you landed on a rock surface with your head? Disorientation my arse, gnomes are considered a pest by everyone, not to mention that the Creature Control Units of the Ministry kill them by the dozens. Nobody cares, Granger.’   
  
‘I care.’  
  
He groaned tiresomely.   
  
‘Fine, care, be a bleeding heart,’ he spat, ‘but do it on your spare time, not on mine and definitely not while you’re casting. Now pull your shit back inside as I showed you, so I can withdraw my magic from maintaining your bodily functions. I have meetings to attend to.’  
  
He swirled her around abruptly, until her back was pressed against his front, and then, he clasped her hands over her stomach with his. ‘You  ** _do_**  remember how to do this?’ he sneered disparagingly. ‘Because I have better dumps to hang out than here of all the wasteyards in the world.’  
  
She rolled her eyes. Really, drama queen.   
  
‘Such an inspirational encouragement, I feel all warm and tingly with confidence now,’ she sneered back.  
  
His reaction came immediately. Hermione doubled over and gulped when he pressed their hands into her stomach roughly. ‘If you don’t want to stay here,’ he threatened to her bent-over form, ‘we can finish this at my place.’  
  
He undid the pressure and waited for her to catch her breath and rise again. ‘Here is fine,’ she said, panting.   
  
‘Good,’ he replied with a slight upward curve of his lip. ‘Whenever you’re  _finally_  ready.’  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes, and her body stiffened in irritation. His fingers slid up and down over her bare arms before he placed his hands back over hers in a supporting gesture. She blinked. What was wrong with that man? One moment he’d act like a complete arse and the next he’d do something that made her feel so secure. She tilted her head back against his chest and looked up. ‘You know there is this theory about the importance of congruity between verbal and non-verbal communication. You’re always breaking it.’  
  
‘Am I now?’ he retorted, amused. His red eyes glittered in merriment as he looked down into her brown ones.   
  
‘Argh,’ she let out, shaking her head. ‘Why do I bother?’  
  
‘Beats me.’  
  
Deciding to ignore his continued teasing, since responding to it was only feeding the beast, she concentrated on the task ahead. Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and relaxed her body. Focusing on her breathing, she quietly centred herself in her environment. She became aware of every beat of her heart, of the blood pulsing through her veins, of her feet standing on the soil, of every inch of her body, of the magical node pulsating in the right hemisphere of her brain, and the one pulsating just below her heart against their joined hands.   
  
Her awareness spread beyond herself and she felt the comfort of his hands on hers and his body against her back. She could feel his magic inside of her, sustaining her as she had indeed cast out too much of her own. She also felt it swirling around them both, even though his magic wasn’t directed at the moment. He was waiting for her to try first, and she noticed he was ready in case anything went wrong. It made her feel at ease, until she felt that pendant around her neck, connecting them together. For a second, she frowned at the force of it and almost lost her concentration. Yet, he squeezed her hands slightly, making her move on.   
  
Slowly, her senses stretched outward, searching for that familiar power of her magic. At about three inches away from their bodies, she passed a small barrier that he obviously had erected, and then, her magic was all there – contained, violent, and oppressed in too tight an area. She gasped for air. Suffocating, she was suffocating again. Panicking, she withdrew away immediately.   
  
‘W-what happened?’ she stuttered, swaying in his arms before looking up at him, confused. She’d never felt like that before when trying to draw her magic back in.  
  
With an impassive expression, he met her eyes. ‘You let out too much,’ he said softly, his hand sliding over her chest to the pendant. He held it out for her to see. ‘I told you this would protect you from my followers, but it also protects you from yourself. The second you lose control over your magic, it will raise a ward around you that I designed specifically for you. It will keep your magic contained around you. However, you let out so much there isn’t enough room for it all within that confinement. Hence the suppressing and suffocating sensations you’re experiencing when you come in contact with it.’  
  
‘I see,’ she replied slowly. ‘And what else does this pendant do?’ she asked sweetly, a fake smile plastered on her face, checking his guarded eyes.   
  
He smirked. ‘You tell me.’  
  
‘Can we not do the stupid cat and mouse thing every time?’   
  
He tilted his head and looked up at the sky as if he was really considering her request.   
  
Hermione growled upon seeing his act, making him snigger.  
  
‘Now where is the fun in that?’ he teased, letting the pendant drop and stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand.   
  
‘Oh, a lot more fun for me,’ she retorted. But before he could respond with another taunt, she added, ‘Why can’t I take it off?’   
  
‘Tried that already, have we?’ he said, amused.  
  
She sighed, closing her eyes.   
  
‘It’s safer this way,’ Voldemort continued evenly.  
  
The tips of his fingers caressed her neck lightly as he let the cord of the necklace slid through his index and middle finger. It was such a nice tingling sensation that she hardly heard his comment about how this prevented others from forcing her to remove it by blackmail or any other means. She shook her head, trying to focus on his words instead of his actions.  
  
‘I am the only one who can take it off at the moment. But when you’re ready, you’ll be able to do it too,’ he ended his explanation.  
  
‘Ready for what?’ she asked, alarmed.  
  
A small smile graced his snakelike features. ‘You’ll see,’ he answered cryptically, letting go of the necklace and placing his hand back on his other over her clasped hands, stopping that splendiferous caress of her neck to her sincere disappointment. ‘Now let’s continue where you left off. You needn’t worry about getting suffocated if you open your node and let it return to you. It will want to come back now, because I am sure your magic doesn’t appreciate being locked up. It’s, after all,  _your_  magic,’ he added, sniggering.  
  
‘As long as you got that straight,’ Hermione said sharply, causing his irritating snigger to stop immediately and his blank expression to reappear.   
  
‘Do I need to push it back in or are you going to?’  
  
 _Inhale – exhale, count to ten._  One of these days she really wouldn’t be able to  _not_ swing her fist at his face.   
  
But today wasn’t that day. She closed her eyes and started over again. Knowing what to expect, she didn’t freak out the second time, and Lord Voldemort had been right. The second her magic realised its home front door was open, she needn’t lure it back to her as usual. It came running for the safety of her body’s nodes immediately. The impact she sustained was significant, and she was happy Voldemort was holding her upright, otherwise she was sure she would have crashed to the ground.   
  
After a few seconds, her dark magic mingled with her light magic and her nodes began functioning normally again. In that moment, she noticed Voldemort withdrawing his magic carefully from her nodes. She held her breath, knowing if she’d done it wrong, she would be in a shipload of trouble. Fortunately, she didn’t collapse. Sighing relieved that she’d done it, Hermione opened her eyes happily.   
  
Now that her magic had returned inside of her, it no longer obscured her view with its dark mist. She could see how his green mark bellowed around them. Hermione gasped when she pretty much noticed that every Order member stood around them. And if she could see them ...   
  
Groaning, she wanted to vanish into thin air just like the dark cloud had vanished inside of her.  
  
‘They can’t see us.’  
  
 _Really?_  She touched the green “snake-cloud” with her fingertips and got a light shock. ‘Oww,’ she cried out and shook her fingers. _Dammit, a double-sided ward. Arse._  
  
‘Warned you.’  
  
‘Excuse me?’ she objected indignantly.  
  
‘You knew it functioned to keep your magic in as well,’ he specified. ‘Always extrapolate knowledge, dear.’  
  
‘If I  _extrapolate_  the qualities of this ward, they should be able to see us since I can see them. Double-sided wards always act evenly.’  
  
‘Always?’  
  
She paused, thinking about it, but she knew she was right. ‘Yes, they have to be. You can’t dictate the power to go to one end alone, because it would destroy the balance and the entire ward would collapse.’  
  
‘Mmm …’   
  
‘It’s basic ward theory,’ Hermione added, folding her arms over each other.  
  
He shrugged before stretching out his hand and waving cheerfully at the crowd. ‘Hello Dumbles! Who should I kill first?’  
  
Hermione scowled.   
  
‘Mmm … seems practise is beating theory here,’ he said sniggering when there was no reaction on the other side.  
  
‘How’s that possible?’ she asked, frustrated. ‘They have to see us.’  
  
‘Come on, Hermione, you know this. The answer is quite simple,’ he replied a tad impatient.   
  
Confused, her eyes swept over the ward. The skull that hovered above her head and the snakes that left its mouth. She got nothing. Wait a sec. Snakes, plural! Wards! She groaned, slapping herself in the head. Two wards, of course. That would account for the difference and why she could see through it and they couldn’t see inside.   
  
‘Exactly,’ Voldemort said, sounding satisfied.  
  
Only now a new problem occurred to Hermione. Just because they couldn’t see her, didn’t mean they couldn’t see the outer ward.   
  
‘Your mark …’ Hermione paused and groaned. ‘How am I going to explain that?’  
  
‘Not my problem,’ he said coldly, making her eyes snap back to his immediately in irritation.   
  
He smirked wickedly. ‘My problem is …’ he said, tilting his head in consideration, ‘what shall I do with such a wonderful opportunity?’ And he pointed to Potter, who stood only a few feet away at point blank range.  
  
Hermione turned pale, until she realised who stood next to Harry and snorted. ‘Good luck battling Professor Dumbledore and all the others. Sure you want to risk him incapacitating you, while Kingsley fires a Killing Curse?’ she mocked.   
  
‘Do you really think they are going to fire Unforgivables my way when I am holding you in my arms?’ he countered, amused.   
  
A crack sounded, announcing the arrival of Ljudmila Volkova at the Burrow.   
  
‘Well, this was fun,’ Voldemort said abruptly. ‘Give my regards to the wolf lady.’ He smirked knowingly and disapparated in a flash.   
  
‘Eh!’ Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in defeat. ‘What do I do about your bloody ward? Voldemort!’   
  
‘Ask her for the key,’ his voice echoed through her mind. ‘I know you can.’  
  
 _What?_  
  
Growling, she ruffled through her hair in frustration. Was she supposed to walk around with his bleeding clouded ward around her forever?  
  
 _Fine_ , she thought sarcastically, watching Volkova morph into her wolf form.  _Can I have the key?_  
  
She hadn't expected anything to happen. So, her eyes widened and she shrieked in surprise when the wolf jumped forward. Its front paws collided roughly into her chest and tossed her to the ground. White light blinded her eyes and overloaded all her senses, making her scream out in agony again as the power soared through her. A loud howl sounded above her and the light dimmed gradually, until she stared into two yellow eyes in a white wolf’s face. Blinking white, sharp teeth in a drooling mouth drew her attention before the wolf shook out its white furry coat with grey specks and licked her nose. Fluently, Volkova shifted back to human form, drawing Hermione to her feet with her.   
  
‘She’s fine,’ she announced to the concerned faces around them. ‘He left before she call– before I entered.’  
  
Harry tried to run to Hermione, but Dumbledore pulled him back by his collar immediately.  
  
‘What’s that around her neck?’ Tonks asked, pointing to the glowing green pendant.  
  
‘Wait till her necklace settles down, Harry, then you can go to her,’ Dumbledore explained kindly when Harry looked up at him confused.  
  
Hearing Tonks’s question and Dumbledore’s words to Harry, Moody stumped to Hermione to investigate the item. He stopped at an appropriate distance and pointed his wand at the pendant. ‘That …  _thing_  holds his mark, too, Albus.’ He glanced from Dumbledore to her suspiciously. ‘Why are you wearing that, Miss Granger? What are you hiding?’   
  
Helplessly, Hermione looked in Professor Dumbledore’s direction. She really had no idea what to say.  
  
‘Don’t look at him,’ Moody ordered sternly. ‘Answer me, Miss Granger.’  
  
Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a fish on land.  
  
‘She can’t,’ Dumbledore intervened immediately.  
  
 _I can’t? Oh, okay, I can certainly keep my mouth shut. That’s easy._  Hermione pressed her lips together.   
  
‘What?’ Moody snapped, turning around to Albus.  
  
‘Why not?’ Remus added, watching Hermione concerned.  
  
‘Let’s continue this inside, shall we, Alastor?’ Albus replied soothingly.   
  
‘Can we allow her inside?’ he countered. ‘Who knows what she will–’  
  
Ljudmila planted her hand on his upper arm. ‘The girl is not a threat to us, Mr. Moody,’ she said in a calming voice that danced around him. ‘Nothing bad will happen.’  
  
He looked at her sceptically. ‘Then why are you trying to sooth me magically with your voice? What do you know that we don’t?’  
  
Ljudmila flinched and dropped her hand. She obviously hadn’t counted on Alastor Moody picking up on her actions. Hermione had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.  _Such typical Keeper arrogance._    
  
Slowly, the pendant’s green light died out, and to Hermione’s horror, it accompanied the return of her longing for Lord Voldemort. Slightly uncomfortable, she shuffled on her feet, trying to take her mind of the throbbing sensation in her nether regions. Crap. This really was an inconvenient moment.   
  
‘Come on, Alastor,’ Kingsley said in his deep voice. ‘I’m sure we can continue this conversation inside.’   
  
‘You’re sure?’ Moody said disbelievingly. ‘Look how that pendant has suddenly turned black again, obscuring his mark from sight. She’s been wearing that thing ever since she arrived here. And Voldemort,’ – several people flinched when he spoke the name out loud – ‘was just here, meeting with her, a Muggle-born witch,’ he nodded with his head to Hermione, ‘and she’s still breathing. Do you have any other explanation than that the girl is on his side?’  
  
Kingsley shrugged and looked to Dumbledore. ‘Apparently, Albus does. And if that doesn’t sooth you, you can look at it this way: If she is a threat, we outnumber her …’ he looked around, ‘well, a lot to one.’  
  
‘Hermione is my friend,’ Harry interrupted, yanking himself from Dumbledore’s grasp and stepping between her and Moody, facing the others furiously. ‘Anyone who dares to hex her better be prepared to hex me too.’  
  
‘Harry,’ Hermione said weakly, feeling incredibly guilty right now about fucking and still wanting to fuck his mortal enemy.   
  
However, she shut her mouth when she saw Dumbledore signalling to her with his eyes to stay quiet. Her eyes fell on Ron who stood in the door opening to the kitchen, his face unusual pale – not moving an inch. He avoided eye contact with her and she felt a lot worse suddenly. Did he believe what Moody was thinking? At least Ginny was trying to get to them, she noticed the redhead struggling to get out of her mother’s tight grip. Hermione bit her lip, trying to prevent herself from crying; she wasn’t going to cry and show weakness. Oh no, she couldn’t afford too – not now. Her emotions pushed her desire away, and she could focus on the task at hand again.   
  
 _Concentrate, and keep it together, Granger,_  she said firmly to herself.  _Dumbledore will fix this. Make sure you don’t add to the problems and expose the Keepers._  
  
‘Potter, get out of the way,’ Moody said.   
  
‘No,’ Harry said stubbornly.   
  
‘Harry step aside,’ Remus said sharply.   
  
Hermione felt sick to her stomach when she noticed the suspicion in his expression, knowing it was not entirely unfounded – though she hadn’t helped  _Him_  do anything to defeat the Order, she surely was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the thought of them defeating  _Him_. Yet, she didn’t want Harry to die either. This was an impossible, rotten situation.   
  
‘NO!’ Harry said, looking at Remus angrily. ‘She’s my friend.’  
  
Remus shook his head; his face suddenly appeared older as if he experienced something painful again.  
  
‘Enough of this! Nobody is going to hex anyone,’ Dumbledore said, raising his hands between them as he stepped forward as well. ‘Let’s all calm down. He’s gone. Let’s not give him the satisfaction of going for each other’s throats, shall we?’   
  
Kingsley and Mr. Weasley nodded seriously. Several others mumbled in agreement.  
  
‘Alastor?’ Dumbledore said, looking at him questioningly.   
  
Moody grumbled something incomprehensible that apparently was a confirmation, because Dumbledore turned to Hermione, placed his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘Are you all right, Miss Granger?’  
  
Hermione nodded silently, because she had to swallow the giant lump in her throat. She caught Harry’s eye; he was standing right beside her now and was smiling supportively to her. She sent him a weak smile back, and he took her hand, squeezing it softly.   
  
No, she’d never betray Harry, never. She couldn’t. He was the best friend she ever had. He’d always been and would be there for her. Somehow, she had to find a solution to save his life – to save both their lives. Stupid prophecy. Stupid Divination.   
  
‘Good, good,’ Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as he watched the caring interaction between Harry and Hermione. ‘Let’s go inside and talk. This will take a while.’  
  
As they left the rubble and went to the Burrow, Hermione was the only one who noticed the brief glance of understanding between Volkova and Dumbledore.   
  
\---


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**  
  
The white, sandy beach was deserted. Despite the burning sun, the nice breeze, the wonderful waves of the crystal-clear, turquoise ocean, and the holiday season, no tourist was found anywhere near him. Lying on a luxurious, reclining chair underneath the shade of a conveniently relocated palm tree with a cold beverage in his hand, Gellert Grindelwald enjoyed his day.   
  
And a wonderful day it was.   
  
The weather was lovely, even though he had to redirect a class five hurricane out of its path at the last minute. There was nothing as fun as banishing volatile weather fronts. Sure, it would re-emerge and hit a completely unsuspecting Mexico any second now, but that was not his problem. He didn’t live there after all. And said hurricane had provided him with a completely empty beach on the Florida Keys.   
  
Although, empty …?  
  
‘Go away, Marcus,’ he ordered, waving his hand at the man who’d attempted to walk up to him stealthily from behind.   
  
‘How did you know I was here?’ the black clad man asked, baffled.  
  
‘You have a very specific odour,’ Gellert replied, wrinkling his nose.  
  
‘Funny.’  
  
‘Yeah, that’s me, Mr. Comedian.’ The comedian took another sip of his beverage and sighed delighted. ‘Absolutely delicious. A well-made Rum Runner with this view …’ he said, waving with his hand at the ocean, ‘it’s pure heaven on earth.’  
  
‘I have important news.’  
  
‘Not interested,’ Gellert replied dismissively. ‘Take it to the inevitably losing moron trying to pull one over on Albus now.’  
  
Marcus halted in his footsteps, scratching his neck, for he seemed not to know what to do. Then, he knelt down anyway and whispered in the blond’s ear. A split-second later, he wished he’d shouted it from a distance.   
  
A very far and safe distance.  
  
‘WHAT!?’ Gellert boomed, flying to his feet furiously – his wand already in his hand. ‘Why didn’t you come to tell me this immediately?’  
  
Marcus tumbled back, falling on his behind in the sand. ‘I – I couldn’t find you,’ he stuttered.   
  
‘You couldn’t find me,’ Gellert sneered. ‘You, not being able to find me is like not being able to find a grain of sand on this beach. I can still be called by you, idiot.’   
  
Marcus’s eyes widened. ‘I … I really didn’t know tha-that charm still wo-worked.’   
  
Marcus froze, closing his eyes in fear at seeing the fury on the other man’s face. A fury, that’d been infamous among Grindelwald’s most loyal followers. A fury, that not many on the outside world had ever seen, unless they’d been close enough to him to witness it. And those close enough rarely witnessed anything ever again.   
  
When nothing dastardly happened, Marcus peeked through his eyelids.   
  
The beach was empty.   
  
He let out a sigh in relief. He was still alive and had delivered the news as Aloysia had told him to do. Everything was set in motion. Victory would be theirs.  
  
Loud cracks erupted around Marcus on all sides. Cloaked figures had him surrounded, their wands out and pointed. He tried Apparition, but wards had been risen around him.  
  
‘Federal American Auror Bureau!’ a female voice boomed. ‘Drop your wand!’  
  
With a scowl, Marcus threw his wand away and raised his hands.   
  
‘You’re under arrest for improper use of weather charms,’ the same voice called out as ropes wrapped around him, ‘and the subsequent deaths and destruction said charm evokes.’  
  
 _Improper use of what?_  
  
‘That’s Marcus Bianchi!’ an excited, male voice shouted. ‘Grindelwald’s right-hand man.’  
  
 _Oh great, they’ve id’ed me._  
  
Victory suddenly seemed miles away for Gellert’s right-hand man.  
  
\---  
  
The atmosphere was still tense as the Burrow’s kitchen slowly filled with curious Order Members. Moody’s wooden leg stomped just that little bit more audibly over the tiles than normally as he walked around and around, examining the environment in short, abrupt paces while the others took up a seat. Professor Dumbledore had sat down at the head of the table with Hermione directly on his right. Harry had immediately scooted down in the chair next to her, glaring warningly in basically everyone’s direction. Hermione patted his hand, and when he looked at her with concern shining through his familiar, green eyes, she sent him a grateful, reassuring smile and angled her head towards him.   
  
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered through the screeching sounds of chairs being moved and people sitting down, trying to ignore the pulse of desire in her pubic bone.   
  
Harry’s face turned sceptical.   
  
‘I really am fine, Harry. You needn’t worry. He didn’t hurt me.’  _He just fucking left before allowing me a release, and I’m so screwed now._  
  
‘Yeah, right, he only came by to help,’ he replied sarcastically, not realising how close to the truth his whispered statement was. ‘I know him, Hermione. You can’t tell me he didn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on you.’  
  
Hermione winced slightly, causing Harry’s temper to flare. ‘I knew it,’ he hissed furiously underneath his breath. ‘I knew it,’ he muttered, ‘that–’  
  
But whatever “wonderful” traits Harry was allocating to Lord Voldemort were drowned out by Molly Weasley’s clear voice.   
  
‘Ginny, Ron, out.’  
  
Harry and Hermione turned their heads to see Ginny being pushed to the hall by Mrs. Weasley and Ron leaning against the far wall, gawking at his mother in surprise. He’d not taken a seat yet, even though the one next to Harry had been vacant, until Tonks stumbled into it.   
  
‘No,’ Ginny said, stomping with her foot. ‘Hermione is our friend, too.’  
  
‘This is an Order Meeting, and you’re both underage.’   
  
‘Yes, bro, this is not for little kiddies,’ Fred said, patting his exasperated brother on the head teasingly in passing.   
  
Ron stepped aside to look at his mother again. ‘Harry’s underage, too,’ he objected; his eyes flickering in their direction, yet he avoided looking them in the eye directly.  
  
‘Yeah, well,’ Molly replied, looking disapprovingly in the same direction as if she felt those two had no business being here as well. ‘You youngsters shouldn’t have to deal with–’  
  
‘Molly,’ Dumbledore interrupted gently. ‘It’s best if everyone stays.’  
  
‘Yes,’ Ginny said victoriously, and she quickly jumped in the nearest chair available as if by taking a seat her presence was a given at this meeting.  
  
‘If you don’t let them stay, they’re going to hear everything from Harry and Hermione afterwards anyway,’ Arthur added softly, wrapping an arm around his conflicted wife.   
  
‘Yes – well,’ Molly said doubtfully. ‘I … I suppose that’s true.’  
  
Ron let out a sigh in relief when he obviously was allowed to stay and looked around to find most chairs were taken by now. His eyes rested shortly on his friends, who were whispering to each other. Ron’s face contorted at the sight of them. Then, Fred drew everyone’s attention.  
  
‘Eh, George, sure a chair with four legs is enough to keep you seated?’ A flick of his twin’s wand and George’s seat grew several more legs. ‘We wouldn’t want you to tumble down again, as you so “gracefully” did in the yard.’  
  
‘Your concern is touching,’ George replied dryly, flicking his wand when Fred tried to sit down, causing his brother to mow around with his arms to remain upright when his chair danced all around the room with him. The audience’s laughter at Fred’s hilarious facial expressions during his acrobatically impossible moves on the skipping chair broke some of the tension. When Fred finally landed on his back with his feet dangling in the air next to George’s eight-legged chair, everyone was a lot more relaxed.   
  
Well, almost everyone.  
  
‘Move aside, Remus,’ Moody barked, conjuring an additional chair with his wand and scooting in between Remus and Albus.   
  
Hermione felt that was an awfully strategically position for him to sit in, right opposite from her at the table with a good view on the rest of the room as well. And … she was pretty sure his wand wasn’t in his pocket at the moment either. Yet, she couldn’t check if he had it drawn since his wide sleeves covered his arms fully. Uncomfortably, she squirmed in her seat. She had no idea what Professor Dumbledore was planning to say. What if she couldn’t keep her face in check and Moody saw it? That magical eye of his wasn’t particularly reassuring to look at if you had something to hide.   
  
Merlin, she hoped it didn’t show on her that she felt horny, lusting after their enemy. That would definitely get her a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Oh my, she had to keep her Occlumency up. What if he could do Stage One Legilimency with that eye of his?   
  
Quickly, she averted her eyes and looked across the room again. Most Order Members had their attention focused on Dumbledore, who was leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his fingertips pressed to one another, waiting till Fred had scrambled back to his feet and sat down. The few people who met her eyes weren’t giving her hostile glares to her relief. Curiosity, worry, and some signs of suspicion were visible in their expressions, which she could understand. She’d been suspicious, too, if it’d been anyone else but her whom this happened to. Ron kept averting eye contact with her, and it pained her to see he’d sat down on the farthest seat away from them. Yet, Ron wasn’t her biggest problem at the moment.   
  
Aurors, possible Legilimency-capable Aurors were.   
  
Rapidly, she searched her mind for some catchy tune you couldn’t shake even if you wanted to. It was best to be prepared before a spell got cast her way. It didn’t take her long to find one. As the lyrics ran through her mind, she met Ljudmila Volkova’s amber eyes.   
  
 _Mamma Mia, here I go again. My – my, how can I resist you?_  
  
The elderly witch gained a small smile on her face briefly before her face turned serious again. Hermione realised the female Keeper was the only one who still stood, leaning with her back against the door to the gardens, and it didn’t seem like she planned to sit down any time soon.   
  
In case something went wrong with Professor Dumbledore’s explanation?   
  
She  **was**  blocking the exit. Well, with that fragile-appearing figure "blocking" was a bit of an odd word to use, but she was still …  _there_. Plus, magically speaking, there was probably only one person in this room who could take Ljudmila Volkova, and he was on her side, sitting at the head of the table, right next to Hermione.   
  
 _Look at me now, will I ever learn? I don’t know how …_  
  
‘Alastor, do you need to have your wand out?’ Dumbledore asked, looking sideways when the room had turned quiet.   
  
‘Why? Does it bother you?’ the ex-Auror asked, turning his attention away from Hermione to the wizard sitting in the seat next to him.  
  
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, it does,’ Dumbledore said, watching him seriously. ‘It’s bad enough we failed to protect Hermione. I would appreciate it if you weren’t standing by, ready to hex her as well. She’s had a difficult summer, Alastor, as you had a difficult year in that suitcase. How would you feel if wherever you went people were preparing to hex you just in case?’  
  
‘She’s been his prisoner?’ Moody asked, glancing in Hermione’s direction briefly.  
  
‘Yes,’ Albus said immediately.  
  
The two held gazes for a long time, ignoring the horrified gasps that came from some of the others at the table. In the end, Moody sighed and removed his wand from his sleeve back into his pocket.   
  
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Albus said, patting his arm comfortingly. ‘I know how much that cost you.’  
  
Moody grumbled something indecipherable in return and folded his arms over each other, staring at Hermione directly. ‘You’d better have a good explanation as to why he was here now, Miss Granger.’  
  
‘As I said before, she can’t answer your questions, Alastor, Lord Voldemort made sure of that.’  
  
‘A little Veritaserum–’  
  
‘–won’t enable her to talk to you. We’ve already tried that and all it did was cause her severe pain until she passed out.’  
  
‘We?’  
  
‘Severus and I.’  
  
Dumbledore dropped the name of the dead Professor and fellow Order Member like it was nothing, but the impact it had on the others was significant. Several murmured the name in confusion, their eyes flickering to Hermione, wondering if she knew what had happened. Everyone knew Snape had been killed by Lord Voldemort himself, yet the details concerning the circumstances had been sketchy at best. Hermione dropped her head and watched her hands, taking on an appropriate sad posture and expression. It wasn’t hard since all feelings of desire had vacated her at the mere mention of Severus Snape. Eww … that hair alone would’ve been enough to turn her off men for the rest of her life.  
  
 _Mamma Mia … Where on earth is Dumbledore going with this? … Just one look and I can hear a bell ring._  
  
‘Now, shall I start at the beginning?’ Dumbledore said, looking around the table calmly. ‘I think it will be easier to follow for everyone if I do so.’  
  
Tonks nodded.  
  
‘Please do,’ Arthur Weasley said, his face concerned.   
  
‘Go ahead, Albus, we won’t interrupt,’ Kingsley said, leaning forward to give Alastor Moody a meaningful look.   
  
‘Okay. It started at the end of last school year. When Hermione returned home with her parents, the house unfortunately wasn’t empty. Lord Voldemort was awaiting their arrival.’  
  
‘Oh no,’ Molly said, slapping her hand in front of her mouth.   
  
‘I thought you warded her parents’ house?’ Remus asked, his eyes flickering between Hermione and Albus.  
  
‘I had,’ Dumbledore conceded. ‘Yet, he found a way through my safeguards.’  
  
Remus groaned. ‘I said this would happen,’ he muttered, annoyed. ‘I told you to take her family elsewhere, but does anyone ever listen to me? No, we just keep on taking ridiculous risks that get people killed every time. It would’ve been obvious to a child they were a prime target without any means to defend themselves.’  
  
‘And you were right,’ Albus said calmly.   
  
‘Are they all right – her parents?’ Molly asked.  
  
Albus nodded. ‘He didn’t hurt them. He gave Hermione an ultimatum: She could come with him freely and he’d leave them alone or …’ he trailed off there, knowing that everyone would be capable to fill in the blanks.   
  
‘Are they safe now?’ Moody asked sharply.   
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘He’s not blackmailing her with them right now?’   
  
He didn’t look at Albus when he asked this, but at Hermione. She shook her head in accordance with Dumbledore’s response, trying to look as sincere as possible with the Abba tune floating through her mind as a distraction.   
  
Merlin, this was hard. Those were really, really horrible lies to tell. She didn’t like it that Dumbledore involved her parents in his story at all. She was already worried enough about them. Using them as a cover almost felt like a bad omen, like they made it more likely to happen in reality.  
  
‘How can you be sure?’ Remus asked, waving with his arm across the table in irritation. ‘You thought their protection was good enough before and that obviously wasn’t true either.’  
  
Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. ‘I won’t go into the details of their security, Remus. I’m sorry. It’s not you, but we’re with a lot of people here and if any one of us gets caught, he can extract that information too easily. Rest assured that they are unreachable to Lord Voldemort for the time being.’  
  
‘Unlike her,’ Moody said sharply.  
  
‘Yes,’ Dumbledore acknowledged calmly, as if he told them Santa Claus could enter any moment, bearing gifts. ‘Unfortunately, our wards aren’t good enough. That pendant makes it possible for him to reach her no matter where she is.’  
  
That statement turned the entire kitchen into uproar.   
  
Hermione kept her eyes downcast the entire time, watching her hands. She was fiddling with her fingers nervously, feeling somewhat guilty about the concern the others were having over her as she’d basically been doing the Dark Lord behind their backs. She hardly registered Dumbledore informing the others that trying to remove said necklace from her neck was impossible without getting her killed. Nor could she make out all the different suggestions that flew over the table since everyone spoke through one another and nobody seemed to be listening. Finally, Kingsley Shacklebolt rose to his feet, rammed with his fist on the table and boomed, ‘ENOUGH!’  
  
It was silent immediately. Surprised at the irritation in the voice of the otherwise stoic Auror, Hermione stopped her study of her hands and raised her head. Kingsley was looking around the table, making eye contact with everyone as he said with clear emphasis on every single word, ‘This is not helping. We’re going to let Albus tell us the whole story before we discuss it. Once we have all the information, we can make an informed decision. Albus?’   
  
‘Thank you, Kingsley. I couldn’t agree more.’  
  
Yet, Hermione had the distinct feeling Dumbledore hadn’t minded the arguing. The more confusion there was, the easier it was for him not to get caught in a lie. It was probably why he kept dropping bomb after bomb with his statements.  
  
‘Now, as I stated,’ Dumbledore calmly continued, ‘Lord Voldemort was at Hermione’s house, telling her she had four days to make up excuses to everyone and that she’d better make sure nobody suspected anything or her mother would die. He left that day, taking her mother with him and told her where to meet him next.’  
  
Kingsley frowned. ‘Four days? Wait a second!’ he exclaimed, looking at Hermione enlightened and breaking his own order not to interrupt Albus Dumbledore. ‘You were at that school’s playground!’  
  
Tonks’s head swivelled to Hermione. ‘That girl – that was you?’ she asked disbelievingly. ‘You kicked me?’  
  
‘Sorry,’ Hermione muttered apologetically underneath her breath.  
  
‘Sorry?’ Tonks asked, stunned. She almost made Harry tumble backwards, chair and all, when she leaned over him, flew her arms around Hermione and pulled her into a tight hug. ‘You saved my life.’  
  
‘Not just yours,’ Kingsley said, leaning back, impressed.   
  
But Tonks was too busy rocking Hermione back and forth to acknowledge anyone else. Every other second, Harry had to evade her elbow from colliding into his stomach. He didn’t succeed every time and his face took on a pained expression ever so often.  
  
‘I owe you one, Hermione. Whenever you need a hard kick in your bottom, do contact me,’ Tonks joked, tightening her grip.  
  
‘You’re smothering me,’ Hermione spoke in the Auror’s robes, her voice muffled to the extreme.   
  
‘Sorry,’ Tonks said, letting go of her and getting back in her seat, all the while beaming at her cheerfully. ‘You’ve got some kick, Hermione. I had a bruise on my bottom for weeks.’  
  
‘Well … you wouldn’t get out of the way,’ Hermione replied, smiling.   
  
‘I will next time you raise your leg. Ouch.’   
  
Tonks rubbed her backside exaggeratingly, causing Hermione to start giggling. Many others didn’t suppress their smiles anymore either.   
  
‘Yes,’ Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling in Tonks’s direction, ‘what was … fortunate for you and several other Aurors,’ his eyes rested briefly on Kingsley, ‘however, had a serious downside we were completely unaware of. It took us a very long time before we became aware that Hermione had been taken by Lord Voldemort. It was, in fact, a fortunate circumstance that we planned that Auror raid on Malfoy Manor. Otherwise, Severus might’ve never seen and recognised her. Voldemort went through extreme lengths to keep her isolated from every single one of his followers – no doubt concerned some of them would let it slip she was there to the wrong individual.’  
  
‘You’ve known since then he had her?’ Remus snapped, rising to his feet. ‘That raid was weeks ago!’  
  
In a reflex-like motion, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and stopped him from jumping out of his seat in anger, too. She slightly shook her head, telling him to calm down with her eyes. He remained seated, but his expression was still tumultuous. She really hoped Professor Dumbledore would be done with his story quickly. This was becoming beyond horrible.   
  
Dumbledore nodded calmly, ignoring the different signs of outrage in the room. ‘Severus told me. We had no idea what was going on, so I immediately went to check on her parents and they informed me what had happened at the beginning of the vacation.’  
  
‘You should’ve told us,’ Moody said, disgruntled, siding with Remus Lupin, who’d walked to the window briefly and had come back to sit next to Moody, though he was obvious still agitated. Lupin’s face had gone paler, and he seemed slightly sick. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what time of the month it was.   
  
‘And do what?’ Dumbledore asked seriously. ‘It was obvious that he wanted it to be a secret Hermione was with him. If somehow the knowledge that we knew were to reach him, Hermione’s life could’ve been in grave danger. I couldn’t risk it. Besides, Severus was trying his hardest to find out everything he could in order to get her out of there. That pendant slowed us down though. Severus took great risks, trying out different methods to remove it from her before attempting to get her out. Unfortunately, he got caught doing just that and he was dying when he arrived at Hogwarts with Hermione, not wanting to leave her behind, realising Voldemort now knew that we knew.’  
  
 _Oh please_ , Hermione thought blankly, surprised at how easily everyone swallowed that emotional crap since the whole room was now silent – with the exception of Mrs. Weasley, who was sniffing softly and blew her nose next.  _Holes so big I could drive a lorry through! And … I suddenly lose control, there’s a fire within my soul. … Although that could be because I know the truth, it’s hard to tell._  
  
Still, she could see a ton of issues with that story. If this was going to work, she was going to eat up McGonagall’s hat and take Divination seriously. Yes, she was.   
  
While the emotions were running high, Dumbledore continued swiftly, ‘I stayed on the move with Hermione after that, trying out different wards to block that pendant’s reception and exhausting every possibility to take it off. In the end, I realised she was best off surrounded by her friends, even if that meant–’  
  
Dumbledore flew to his feet, wand in hand. Volkova had done the same thing at her position. At the other side of the table, a blond man, flamboyantly dressed, had appeared silently into room as if he’d materialised out of thin air. The blond ignored the shocked shrieks around him, threw a green bundle of something he had draped over his shoulder through the air carelessly and said cheerfully, ‘I believe you wanted this, Albus?’  
  
Narcissa Malfoy crashed down on the top of the table like a lifeless sack of potatoes.   
  
‘Malfoy!’ Molly shrieked, flying to her feet aggravated.   
  
‘You!’ Moody hollered, pointing his wand at the blond man.  
  
‘Everyone sit!’ Volkova ordered, swooshing her wand behind her back.   
  
A jolt of magic accompanied her words. Both Moody and Molly sat down abruptly. Moody even lowered his wand. Hermione frowned. She felt the overwhelming need to stay seated, even though she recognised that it was magically enforced and her mind wasn’t otherwise clouded. The only ones still standing after that magical command were Dumbledore and the blond man.   
  
‘What for Merlin did you do to her?’ Albus asked, checking out Narcissa.  
  
Fred snorted upon noticing the bruises, and he leaned to his twin brother, whispering something in his ear that made George’s face glow in wicked delight. Hermione glanced sideways suspiciously when she saw George pull some satchel from his back pocket and handle its contents behind his back.  
  
 _Oh boy … should I say something?_  
  
Hermione’s eyes fell on the unconscious Malfoy’s snotty face.  
  
 _Nah._  
  
Her eyes fell on Harry, who grinned at her, having also noticed the twins’ suspicious moves. Everyone else was watching the newcomer or Narcissa Malfoy, so George flicked his wrist unseen. He and Fred shared a satisfied glance afterwards and leaned back in their chairs, innocently.  
  
‘Well, she was being difficult,’ the blond man explained, pointing to Narcissa. ‘Didn’t like that I blew up their mansion for some reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Eh, there were a lot of them and only one, little, old me.’ He stretched out his arm and watched his fingernails in fake interest. ‘But they’re stupid, and I am  _goooood._ ’ He grinned. ‘Great actually.’  
  
 _Where have I heard that voice before?_  
  
Suddenly, Dumbledore whipped his wand through the air. Several jets of purple charged to everyone in the room. Hermione’s eyes widened when it was an inch away from her body. Suddenly, she felt it: a giant shift in polarity. It made the hairs on the back of her arm stand up. Her curls turned static when Dumbledore’s charm stopped in front of her. It stopped in front of Volkova and the blond man, too, yet smashed into everyone else, knocking them out cold. He flexed his magic again and the three purple jets frozen in mid-air disappeared.   
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. She waved with her hand through the air in front of her, utterly shocked. This was impossible. McMullen was wrong. It was impossible. You couldn’t shift the polarity of your magic like that. It took too much power. She’d done the math. It took ten times the power of the individual who’d cast the charm to undo it. Nobody could achieve an amplification of their magic by tenfold. Two was the best you could hope for. This was impossible. McMullen was wrong. Wrong.   
  
Yet, she’d just seen it happen.   
  
 _Oh crap, my entire essay is bogus._  
  
‘Gellert,’ Dumbledore said, glaring across the room to the blond who held his wand loosely by his side.   
  
 _Gellert, as in Grindelwald, that scruffy-looking old bloke who cursed me?_  ‘Whoa, you clean up nicely,’ Hermione blurted out.  
  
Grindelwald beamed at her. ‘Why, thank you, Miss Granger,’ he said, striking an overly effeminate, triumphant pose. ‘It’s nice ** _someone_** ,’ he looked at Albus meaningfully, ‘appreciates my efforts.’  
  
‘You can’t just barge in here on a whim,’ Albus said, ignoring his teasing remarks.   
  
‘Oh goody, did I interrupt something important?’ Grindelwald replied, smirking uncaringly at all the frozen people. ‘I’m  _soooo_  sorry.’  
  
‘We already had a situation before you worsened it,’ Volkova said, tight-lipped. Her hand clutched to her wand, hard. It was obvious she was dying to curse the wizard into oblivion, having not forgotten about their previous encounter. ‘This is the kind of situation Nebi is for. You’re putting the Council at jeopardy of exposure by ignoring the rules.’  
  
‘Council, smouncil,’ Gellert said dismissively. ‘There are two of you here. Surely, you can handle it.’   
  
‘We shouldn’t have to handle it,’ Volkova sneered, moving her wandarm slightly to the side in a more offensive stance. She nodded to the unconscious Malfoy on the table. ‘Why the change of heart?’  
  
Gellert glanced at her wand somewhat apprehensively. ‘Well … I figured if he’s poaching on my woman, I can nick one of his.’  
  
Dumbledore frowned. ‘What’re you talking about?’  
  
‘Aloysia,’ Gellert said softly. He sighed and looked at Dumbledore seriously. ‘She joined forces with him.’  
  
It was like a thousand thoughts and emotions flew across Dumbledore’s face in a single heartbeat. Still, the most poignant feeling Hermione got was alarm, genuine alarm at this news. Even Grindelwald looked grave for a moment. Who was this Aloysia?   
  
‘Aloysia knows, right?’ Dumbledore inquired sharply.  
  
 _Knows what?_  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
The two men stared at each other in mutual comprehension. Hermione’s pupils flickered between them in confusion.  
  
‘Sorry,’ Gellert added timidly before Apparating away abruptly.   
  
 _Sorry?_  
  
‘Now what?’ Ljudmila said, waving with her hand at the situation annoyed. ‘They all saw him and her. Mr. Moody even recognised him, despite his Juvenility Beautification Charms.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘Irresponsible arse, leaving us with this mess. And we can’t do a mass Obliviate, because well, how do we explain her then?’ She pointed at Malfoy, turned around and kicked the door in aggravation. ‘Unbelievable, unbelievable, you’d think that after more than half a century in Nurmengard he’d have grown up by now.’  
  
It remained silent. Dumbledore was staring into thin air. He seemed tired, the lines on his face somehow deeper, like he aged a hundred years in a blink of an eye. Hermione didn’t like the sign of that at all. What was going on? What was Grindelwald apologising for?  
  
‘So, what do you suggest we do, Albus?’ Ljudmila asked. ‘Albus!’  
  
‘Uh, oh, sorry, got distracted. Mmm … yes, well …’ He looked at Narcissa and plucked on his beard thoughtfully. ‘I suppose … you could take her to Draco in the cottage, while I’ll do a mass Obliviate here of their arrival.’  
  
Volkova tilted her head, pensively. ‘That’ll work,’ she said, nodding slowly.   
  
‘Try to get back fast,’ Dumbledore added quietly. ‘We need to finish this meeting.’  
  
‘I will,’ Ljudmila replied, grabbing a hold of Narcissa and Disapparating immediately.  
  
Dumbledore swiftly moved around the room, Obliviating everyone of the knowledge of Gellert’s and Narcissa’s arrival. ‘Oh my,’ he muttered when he came to the twins’ mind. ‘Well, let’s hope she doesn’t freak out too much. I’ll solve it later.’  
  
The fact that Dumbledore suddenly spoke out loud reassured Hermione she wouldn’t disturb him if she asked him something.  
  
‘Those spells you stopped in mid-air,’ she said slowly. ‘You used McMullen’s theory for it.’  
  
‘What makes you think that?’ Dumbledore asked lightly, wiping Tonks’ mind.  
  
‘I felt the polarity shift in the air. But it’s impossible. McMullen is rubbish,’ she muttered, disgruntled. ‘I proved it.’  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. ‘McMullen’s theory has one significant flaw.’  
  
‘And that is?’  
  
‘It can only work for one person in the world at the time,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘So, it’s only logical you – as did Tom before you – came to the conclusion McMullen wrote nonsense.’  
  
‘Why can it only work for one person? And why is that person you?’ Hermione asked really fast. Then, she realised what she’d said and added, ‘No offence meant.’  
  
‘None taken,’ Dumbledore said casually. He sighed and turned to her seriously. ‘I wish I was allowed to explain it to you, Hermione. But as Ljudmila said at an earlier meeting, I am not your guide. Tom passed this assignment with an essay stating McMullen was a moron. I’m sure it won’t hinder your chances either if you keep that position, too. After all, it’s correct for the rest of the world.’  
  
‘But if I say McMullen’s Theory of Everything is rubbish, I’d like to be completely right,’ Hermione objected.   
  
Dumbledore smiled. ‘I’ve noticed, Miss Granger, that the more one learns, the less one knows.’   
  
 _So not helpful._  
  
He stopped at Remus Lupin’s body and flashed his wand in the familiar Memory Charm movements.  
  
‘Why was Gellert Grindelwald sorry?’   
  
Dumbledore froze. He turned his head sideways and watched her gravely. ‘It’s best if you don’t get caught in this, Hermione. You’ve got enough on your plate already.’ His wand flashed one last time to remove Moody’s memory of Grindelwald’s arrival.   
  
‘Why don’t you just Obliviate everything, including Voldemort being here, from their minds?’   
  
‘Because it’s not a harmless charm to use,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘The more you wipe, the more chance there is of causing permanent brain damage. Also, if you use the Memory Charm repeatedly on the same individual, its magic can accumulate in the cells and leave lasting marks, too. We’ve seen this effect with Bertha Jorkins due to Crouch’s casting – although no one realised it at the time, because she’d always been such a gossiper and not too bright.’ Dumbledore shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t want to have to witness that happening to any of our people.’  
  
Hermione could understand that. She was about to ask another question when Ljudmila Volkova apparated back in. Hermione snapped her mouth shut in disappointment. Dumbledore had never been so talkative to her before, unless it was about his feelings on Divination.   
  
‘I’ve got her there and put her in one of the beds. Draco was very happy to see her,’ Volkova said. ‘I warned him not to wake her until you got there. Made up some silly excuse of her needing some healing done.’  
  
‘She will,’ Dumbledore muttered, glancing in the direction of the twins.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘Nothing. Let’s retake our previous positions, shall we?’   
  
Volkova quickly retook her stance at the door and Dumbledore sat down. Hermione hadn’t left her chair, so she was fine.   
  
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Dumbledore said, whirling his wand above his head to wake everyone.  
  
\---  
  
After the meeting, Hermione had needed to go to the loo desperately. As she walked past Kingsley, the Auror briefly took a hold of her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘We’ll find a way, Miss Granger,’ he told her.   
  
‘That would be nice,’ she replied, smiling weakly at him.   
  
Dumbledore had created enough chaos in his story to blur everyone’s senses. Hermione still felt there were gaping holes in his story and that it would’ve been better to just do a complete mass Obliviate of everything Council related. Yet for some reason, Dumbledore insisted to keep the rest of the Order’s knowledge about her connection to Lord Voldemort intact. She felt it was highly counterproductive. It wasn’t like he made a habit of dropping in.   
  
She opened the door and entered the bathroom on the third floor. Moody had needed to go, too, and she had let him visit the ground floor toilet.   
  
Unless … Professor Dumbledore expected Voldemort to be back and wanted people to be prepared for that occasion?  
  
Hermione groaned and buried her head in her hands, while she sat on the toilet seat. Considering he left her so to speak “in heat” she doubted very much he’d be back any time soon. No, he was bound to rub it in. Make her suffer. Merlin, she really needed a good shag. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. In more ways than one.   
  
For instance, Ron was still avoiding her gaze. Why hadn’t he joined her and Harry? What was wrong with him? Didn’t he trust her? Didn’t he know her by now? Ugh.   
  
Hermione didn’t know what to think anymore. She washed her hands and dreaded going out the bathroom. She didn’t feel like going downstairs. People were acting ridiculous now this news was out. Remus Lupin had suddenly turned from watching her suspiciously to an overgrown watchdog. As if she could fall apart any minute and he needed to be there to reassemble the pieces. The grateful glances he kept sending her way befuddled her completely. She’d done nothing to make him grateful. Nothing.   
  
Moody kept glaring at her necklace as if the pendant could burst into the flames of hell any minute. Tonks was trying to assist her by spilling coffee all over her shirt, and then, destroying said shirt by botching up on her Cleansing Charm. Molly was sending her pitiful glances, and she was certain that Fred and George were plotting to do something dastardly to her behind her back to “cheer” her up. She’d seen the telltale signs in their demeanour. Harry was the only one acting normally.   
  
Sighing, she grabbed the door and opened it. She couldn’t really barricade herself in here, anyway.   
  
On her way down, at the second floor corridor, she suddenly heard hushed voices arguing. It came from the twins’ room. Recalling that she was certain they were planning to do something, Hermione tiptoed to the door to eavesdrop. But it wasn’t them. Harry and Ron were arguing relentlessly.  
  
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Harry hissed.  
  
‘Oh, of course  ** _I_**  am ridiculous,’ Ron said with emphasis. ‘Those books …’  
  
‘It’s Hermione. Naturally, she’d have books, Ron.’  
  
‘Who do you think she learned those curses from? She couldn’t do them before the holiday.’  
  
‘So …?’ Harry replied, sounding disinterested.   
  
‘So, so?’ Ron repeated, aggravated. ‘If You-Know-Who taught her …’  
  
‘Then, he’s going to be pissy that she’s relaying his teachings to me,’ Harry replied, snorting amused.  
  
‘You find this funny?’  
  
‘No,’ Harry snapped. ‘I don’t find this funny at all. I don’t find it funny that you stayed away from her and didn’t try to help. I don’t find it funny that Lord Voldemort can get to my friend whenever he bloody well pleases. Sometimes things aren’t about you, Ron.’  
  
‘No, it’s never about me,’ Ron snarled.   
  
It turned completely silent in the bedroom, and Hermione held her breath at the door.   
  
Not again. Ron couldn’t seriously be acting like that  _again_. Hadn’t he learned from his behaviour during the Triwizard Tournament? For a second, she wanted to fling the door open and give him a piece of her mind. Then, she realised all his assumptions were based on Professor Dumbledore’s gaping holes story and she refrained, tiptoeing away quietly, feeling thoroughly disappointed in one of her best friends.   
  
‘Oh Godric, you’re jealous,’ Harry said, baffled. ‘You’re actually jealous he picked her. You’d rather he kidnapped and threatened to torture and kill your mother?’  
  
‘I … I …’ Ron stuttered.  
  
The rest, Hermione didn’t hear anymore nor did she fancy hearing it. She made her way down the stairs quickly. Only to hear another set of voices arguing on the first floor landing. The door to Ginny’s room stood slightly ajar, so Hermione caught a glimpse of what was happening.   
  
‘But this is my bedroom,’ Ginny said steadfast.   
  
‘You’re not staying here,’ Mrs. Weasley said abruptly, pulling the covers of her bed. ‘Not when he … he can get in here any minute.’  
  
‘We don’t have any more spare beds,’ Ginny replied, pulling the covers from her mother’s arms, ‘and I don’t want to sleep with you and dad. He snores.’  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She walked to the door and opened it further, freezing up the argument inside of the room abruptly.   
  
Mrs. Weasley looked at her in shock, her hands filled with bedcovers again. ‘Hermione, I … I didn’t mean …’  
  
‘I know,’ Hermione said reasonably. ‘And I understand your concerns.’   
  
‘I am not afraid,’ Ginny objected.   
  
Hermione smiled at her. ‘You’ve already been through enough with him, Ginny. I … I … couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.’ She turned to Mrs. Weasley who’d regained her composure. ‘I can sleep on the couch in the sitting room. Ginny can stay here.’  
  
‘That couch is horrific to sleep on, my dear,’ Mrs. Weasley said softly. ‘I really can’t let you make such a sacrifice. You’ll destroy your back.’  
  
‘Ginevra can have my bed in Bill’s room,’ Fleur chimed in, darting past Hermione. ‘I can sleep ’ere with ’Ermione.’ Fleur caught a hold of the covers in Mrs. Weasley’s arms.   
  
‘Er ... if it’s not too much of a problem?’ Mrs. Weasley asked, letting go of the covers suspiciously easy.   
  
‘No problem at all,’ Fleur replied cheerfully. ‘Anything to help.’ She placed the covers back on the bed and whipped her wand at them. ‘Scourgify!’   
  
‘Oh, okay then,’ Mrs. Weasley said quickly, as if she was worried Fleur Delacour might come to her senses and rescind the offer. ‘Go get your belongings to Bill’s room, then, Ginny.’  
  
Ginny sent Hermione an apologetic smile as she moved her stuff out together with her mother.   
  
‘Thank you,’ Hermione said gratefully to Fleur’s back when they were alone.   
  
‘No need,’ Fleur said, summoning an extra blanket. ‘It’s fine. Bill’s mother ees a beet …’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Hermione acknowledged, realising the soon-to-be daughter-in-law was a lot more perceptive than she’d given her credit for. Fleur had noticed she wasn’t particularly welcome in the Burrow. Perhaps that’s why she kept trying so hard to help all the time? ‘Well, thank you anyway,’ Hermione said a lot kinder. ‘I’ll see you later.’  
  
Hermione quickly left the room and moved downstairs. She needed a breather. Only the kitchen was still filled with concerned, babbling Order Members, so she quickly escaped into the gardens to be alone at the first opportune moment. It wasn’t much later that Harry sat down on the ground next to her, leaning against the Burrow’s wall like her.   
  
‘Trying to find some peace?’ he asked.  
  
She nodded.   
  
‘I should probably thank you,’ he grinned  
  
‘Uh?’ she said, watching him dumbfounded.   
  
‘Yeah, now  _you_  are the scary one to be around,’ he teased.  
  
Hermione snorted.   
  
After a moment of silence, she asked, ‘How do you deal with that kind of behaviour?’  
  
‘Er … badly?’  
  
‘No, seriously, Harry.’  
  
‘Uh, well, I don’t know. I usually try to ignore it.’  
  
‘Does that work?’  
  
‘Sometimes.’  
  
‘Great.’  
  
‘Sorry.’  
  
They both looked straight ahead, watching the stars above the horizon in the distance. It was silent between them, yet it was a comfortable silence, Hermione felt. It was hard not to be at ease around Harry.  
  
‘Ron’s not coming?’ she asked tentatively.  
  
‘Er …’ Harry stuttered, searching for words. ‘Maybe later. He’s got to–’  
  
‘I overheard your conversation,’ Hermione said softly.  
  
‘Oh.’   
  
‘He’s being an idiot.’  
  
‘He’ll get around,’ Harry said reassuringly. ‘He just … I don’t know … He just–’  
  
‘–needs some attention, fame, glory?’ she finished sharply.  
  
‘–time,’ Harry corrected.   
  
‘I suppose …’ Hermione conceded after a little while.   
  
It turned silent once more between them. The background noises coming from the Burrow were pleasant to her ears, unlike the mosquito that was circling them with an irritating buzz. Hermione swatted her wand at it, making it singe through the air like a shooting star.   
  
‘That was you I saw, wasn’t it?’ Harry asked carefully.  
  
Hermione bit her lip and looked at him.   
  
‘I know, I know. You can’t talk about it. I heard what Professor Dumbledore said.’ Harry paused. ‘It’s just … well, it explains the windows thing. I thought I was going insane or something. I knew I felt that same power around Voldemort before. I just couldn’t understand why Dumbledore would lie about it. But he had to. He couldn’t explain to everyone it was you.’  
  
‘I didn’t mean to break the windows or hurt anyone,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘It … it just happened.’   
  
‘Nobody got hurt by what you did,’ Harry said, looking at her reassuringly.   
  
‘Someone could have,’ she retorted, looking ahead dimly.   
  
‘He’s not going to back down just because we know now, Hermione,’ Harry said warningly. ‘He might’ve wanted to force you to spy on us at first, as Dumbledore said, but he’s not going to give up now that he realised how much power you have. He liked it too much.’  
  
‘I heard you before,’ she replied evenly.  _All his for the taking, I haven’t forgotten._  
  
‘He’s going to want you at his side.’  
  
Hermione snorted. ‘I’m a Mudblood.’  
  
Harry shrugged. ‘Still …’  
  
‘You’re being delusional now, Harry,’ she chided.   
  
‘I don’t think I am. You should be careful.’  
  
‘Gee, you’d think?’ she joked.   
  
They shared a glance and started laughing out loud. Soon, they had to clutch to their bellies from the painful cramps that occurred.   
  
‘Er … hi … er …’  
  
Harry and Hermione looked up and turned silent. Ron stood there, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet – his ears red.   
  
‘Can I … you know?’ he gestured to the ground next to them.  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and then, smiled.   
  
‘Sit down, you moron,’ she said, patting on the ground next to her.  
  
Relieved, Ron slouched down against the wall, crossing his long legs in front of him. The three of them stayed there, chatting for a long time, until Molly Weasley called them indoors and told them they had to go to bed, because they had to get up early in the morning to go to Diagon Alley.   
  
\---  
  
Yaxley ran.   
  
He’d never run this hard in his life, but the alarms had gone off and it was only a matter of minutes before Aurors would arrive in the Department of Mysteries. Even though he worked there and had a viable reason for being in so late, if he was found there, he’d be held for questioning. Questions, that he couldn’t,  _wouldn’t_  answer. Not even if they found the document in his pocket – the genuine document.  
  
He stumbled into the circular room, limping. Swiftly, he whisked his wand at one of the doors. The wall started rotating.   
  
That damn man. If only Margoon had seen to reason, he wouldn’t have had to kill him over the seal. Stupid, insipid moron. How come such a pitiable creature that never dared to leave the bowels of the Ministry or interacted with other human beings for that matter was capable of resisting his Imperius Curse?   
  
Still, he got the seal on the document in question after the man’s death before fleeing the scene. The only problem being he hadn’t had time to lock away Granger’s forged genealogy papers in the registry and there was blood all over them now.   
  
 _The Dark Lord is going to kill me._  
  
Yaxley groaned.   
  
Maybe he should let himself get caught? It might be better for his health. Then again, it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord took over and he’d be in an even bigger mess if he’d had to face him then. No, he had to run. Had to hide. Had to prevent getting caught with the real document. It was unfortunate it was impossible to destroy this magically protected parchment. Otherwise, he’d have burned it into oblivion with some Fiendfyre.   
  
The door of his destination clicked and wouldn’t open. Nervously, he tapped with his wand and spoke the password.   
  
The wall started revolving again, faster and faster.   
  
‘Hurry,’ Yaxley said, tapping with his wand against his leg, watching the entrance door speed by in anxiety. ‘Come on, come on.’  
  
Suddenly, the rotation stopped again. He pushed open the door in question and practical fell into a completely pitch-black area, disappearing from sight instantaneously.   
  
 _Safe at last, they’ll never find me here,_  was his last thought before the door closed behind him.  
  
\---


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go to Serpent In Red for beta-ing this chapter.

**  
  
Chapter 30**  
  
The room in itself was dark with only a few specks of moonlight peeking through the shadows cast by the large tree in front of the window. It suited him just fine. He didn’t need more light for what he came to do here. Slowly, he glided forward. The black robes rustling softly around his feet were the only noise that accompanied his imposing presence. Inside his striking ivory-coloured face, his eyes turned into small, reflecting crimson stripes when he focused his attention, immediately recognising his target by the mess she’d made of her bed. The other girl was lying still, perfectly poised; her long, silvery-blond hair flowed down over the tattered, extra thick blanket she’d on – the hair almost seemed to glow, to shine, and to demand his attention. His mouth curved up in a mocking smile, and his wand flashed, deepening the sleep of the part Veela. Another quick wave of his wand and a golden hum spread outward swiftly; he followed its trajectory briefly with a self-satisfied smirk.  
  
Then, he turned back to the scattering of limbs everywhere on the other bed and chuckled softly at the complete unlikeness between the two occupants of the bedroom.  
  
‘Charming, Hermione,’ he commented, amused.  
  
She was lying on her side with her back turned to him, fully exposed to his gaze since the one sheet she’d used to cover herself got tucked somewhere around her left leg some time ago. Her brown, bushy hair was in sharp contrast next to her white bedding, and he couldn’t remember seeing her wear that bluish, slightly stained nightgown before in his presence. She’d probably deemed it too short around him, he figured. Her clothes were always modest, unlike some girls her age he’d seen wandering around in nothing more than what he’d describe as underwear.  
  
Tentatively, he sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Hermione,’ he whispered, stretching out his hand to touch her hair.  
  
A loud snore greeted him, and he froze when she abruptly flipped around to her other side. Some incomprehensible muttering left her lips as she curled up into a ball around him. His face contorted in pain when her knees impacted hard on his back. Still, she did not wake, which was odd considering that the spell he’d used on her should’ve made her extremely responsive to his touch. His forehead creased. What had she done? Long, spidery fingers curled around the mug on her nightstand and brought it to his nose. The fingers that still rested in Hermione’s hair tightened as he smelled the specific odour of a household Sleeping Potion, and a scowl erupted on his face as he placed the mug down.  
  
Unexpected.  
  
He’d not thought she’d be clear-headed enough to consider this innocuous solution. Apparently, he should’ve placed a stronger spell on her, but he hadn’t wanted to arouse suspicion about her condition, and henceforth, she’d been able to think and take her symptoms away. Undoubtedly, the mother hen would’ve had no suspicions to hand Granger this potion after the girl’s “trying” day. And he was certain said girl would’ve kept enough apart for dilution to control her symptoms during her waking hours.  
  
For a moment, he contemplated nicking every last bit of said potion from the Burrow and leaving her in the condition she was supposed to be in when he arrived: wanton and lusting for him. But it wouldn’t be too difficult to brew a new stash – the ingredients were common after all. Plus, his cock was stirring and he would have absolutely no time tomorrow. The idea of taking her here, right under the nose of those despicable Order Morons again, was incredibly appealing to him and he could undo the potion’s effects easily when she woke with a well-placed jinx. No, that she wasn’t squirming now was only a temporary relief.   
  
‘Clever girl,’ he whispered in satisfaction, stroking through her hair, causing her to stir.  
  
‘All wrong,’ Hermione mumbled against his legs, ‘wrong. Stupid badger.’  
  
‘By Merlin, pick a decent animal, Granger. Of course it’s stupid and annoying; it’s Badger,’ he replied, placing his hand on her shoulder.  
  
‘Granger,’ he hissed under his breath, shaking her somewhat.  
  
‘Uh?’ She blinked, mowing her arms around. ‘What?’ she muttered dazed, her hand flying to her face to rub her eyes. ‘Is it morning already?’  
  
She stretched out her body, looked up … and yelped when she saw him. His hand was on her mouth in a flash. ‘Try not to wake up the entire household, Granger,’ he said conversationally as if it were the most normal thing to drop by someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night, ‘unless you prefer to go to several redheads’ funerals tomorrow?’  
  
Instantaneously, her eyes flashed to Fleur in concern.  _Is she all right? I should’ve taken the couch downstairs._  Hermione let out a relieved breath when she noticed the shallow movements Fleur’s chest was making.  _She’s still alive. Thank Merlin._  
  
‘I didn’t come here to kill anyone,’ Voldemort said, drawing her attention back to him.  
  
‘Then what are you doing here?’ Hermione hissed, turning to her back to relieve the strain on her neck from looking up sideways.  
  
‘I was concerned for your well-being,’ he smoothly said.  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.  _My well-being, yeah, riiiight, because you caaare._  
  
‘Well,’ she said triumphantly with a daring, smug smile on her face, ‘my well-being is perfectly under control.’  
  
He smirked. His upper body shifted, leaning over hers sideways as he placed his hand on the mattress next to her right shoulder for the necessary support. His wandhand was still resting on his lap. Yet, Hermione suddenly wished she was in a more upright position. She felt incredibly vulnerable lying on her back when that penetrating gaze of his got focused on her.  
  
‘Perfectly under control you say?’  
  
The almost innocent upward lilt of his voice indicated a question that she knew was not one by a long shot. No, this was a threat. Uncomfortably, Hermione squirmed underneath him, even more so when she noticed that glint in his eyes – that pleased, obnoxious, I-know-something-you-don’t glint.  
  
 _Mummy! I missed something._  
  
‘A Sleeping Potion, how creative of you,’ he breathed against her lips.  
  
Subconsciously, her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Hermione’s eyes flashed sideways to Fleur.  
  
‘Oh, don’t worry; the nice Veela is resting comfortably. She won’t wake unless I allow her to, and I do not feel so inclined at the moment,’ he paused, tilting his head, ‘ _ **Hermione**_ ,’ he whispered against the skin of her neck, eliciting a shudder from her body.  
  
‘So very responsive you are to me,’ he licked that vulnerable spot in her neck, which sent delicious tingles through her and made her jerk slightly, ‘even with your symptoms suppressed.’ His wandhand slipped underneath her shirt, caressing her stomach gently. ‘Do you know what the problem is with suppressing your symptoms, dear?’ His hand moved up and massaged her breast.  
  
‘You’d get pissy?’  
  
‘Hmm …’ He cocked his head, contemplating her suggestion. ‘Besides that,’ he added, watching her entertained.  
  
Besides that? Wasn’t one pissy Lord Voldemort enough? Although, come to think of it, he didn’t seem very pissy at all. Nope, he appeared to be … happy as if she’d done something that would assist him.  
  
Crap.  
  
She racked her mind but came up empty for something else that could give her a problem. There simply was no side-effect to using a diluted Sleeping Draught to overcome lust. If one wanted, one could take it indefinitely. In its diluted state, there were no dependency issues or other health risks. She just couldn’t see the problem, and there obviously was one because he seemed far, far too pleased for someone who’d just been thwarted in his plans.  
  
‘Nothing?’ he asked teasingly. ‘No ideas whatsoever from the Gryffindor know-it-all?’ He smirked as her body shifted in response to his fingertips travelling lightly from her breast to her neck.  
  
However, right now, Hermione really didn’t care much about his taunts or comments or whatever the hell it was she’d missed as long as he kept using his fingers so expertly on her skin.  
  
‘Well, I suppose you’re not to blame for not having been exposed to the more pleasurable side of the Dark Arts. My bad,’ he added cheerfully.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened when he stopped his caress and placed the palm of his hand – his wandhand! – firmly against her.  
  
‘I shall correct that blatant omission in your education immediately. Ardor Volúpio!’  
  
Before she had time to say or react in any manner, his hand swooped down over her body that arched from the electrifying sensation his touch elicited. Her head swept back, eyes closing. Her hands mowed around for something to hold on to. Fingertips clutched into the mattress, grabbing the sheet. Her legs shook, toes tingling.  
  
Then, whatever the hell he’d done to her in the afternoon, was back. Tenfold. She felt that terrible need rise and rise and rise. The potion she’d taken was grossly ineffective – like a single drop of water falling in the desert: vaporised by the overwhelming heat. A lust-filled moan left her lips as she dropped back into the mattress, opening her eyes to stare at the culprit.  
  
One extremely desirable culprit, her dazed mind corrected.  
  
The way he held himself and moved … oh so fluidly and graciously, like he floated through the air; the power he controlled and exuded … so much power, it made her head spin; and his mind, all that knowledge … she wanted it. She wanted it all.  
  
Now.  
  
Her hand snatched out, grabbing the front of his robes. She pulled; yet, he wasn’t moving. So, she pulled herself up, wanting to meet that deceptive mouth of his and kiss him into oblivion. Or better yet, make him kiss her into oblivion. She was so hot, too hot. It burned all over her body, causing little drops of perspiration to trickle down her neck and back. He had to make it go away. All of it. She’d do anything for him. Her lips tingled and she was about to make contact when his hand on her shoulder stopped her.  
  
‘No, Hermione,’ he breathed against her lips, causing her to lick his.  
  
His soft chuckle danced around her body, making her shiver. And she captured his mouth with hers and tried to deepen the kiss immediately. For a brief moment, he indulged her, and then, there was a crack. She was all alone in bed. Before she could scream out her frustration, there was another crack and he reappeared in one of the rickety chairs by the table.  
  
Immediately, Hermione tossed away the sheets, flung her legs over the edge and rose to her feet. Desperate to get to him, she ran and smashed into an invisible barrier in front of his body. For a while, she tried basically everything she knew to get rid of that obstacle blocking her path. Voldemort didn’t say a thing while she exerted herself. He merely sat there; his arms crossed over his chest; his snakelike face perfectly schooled to reveal nothing; and his legs stretched out, feet crossed at his ankles.  
  
Finally admitting her defeat, Hermione cried out her frustration to the ceiling and dropped to her knees, breathing fast and heavily.  
  
‘Are you done?’ he inquired coolly.  
  
‘Please, please, please,’ she breathed, brushing her hair out of her wet face.  
  
He smirked, suddenly leaning forward and cupping her cheek.  
  
‘Ooooh.’  
  
She closed her eyes at his touch. This was heaven. Divine.  
  
He let go.  
  
Hell. This was hell.  
  
‘Please,’ she implored again, scooting as close as she could to the barrier, to him. ‘I’ll do anything.’  
  
‘Anything?’  
  
Thoughtfully, Voldemort tilted his head while Hermione nodded vigorously to support her statement.  
  
‘You are quite delightful, and trust me, on your knees, begging for my mercy, you are positively appealing, pet. However, that being said, you still need to learn a thing or two about self-control. And I would be a slacking master if I omitted teaching you.’  
  
She groaned, dropping her head in despair. She couldn’t wait. She needed him. He had to take that burning ache away. And the heat, the everlasting heat, it was maddening. She couldn’t see straight. Everything was itching. Everything!  
  
 _Control, what control? Fuck control. Fuck me!_  
  
Voldemort smacked his ghostlike, transparent lips together in quick succession. ‘I’m thirsty,’ he commented conversationally.  
  
 _Thirsty? Fine, I know a place where you can drink. Here, down below._  
  
‘Hmmm… let me see, coffee. Yesss, coffee will be much appreciated,’ he said, staring pointedly at her.  
  
He wanted coffee? Now?  
  
Baffled, Hermione just sat there. She had to have heard wrong. There was no coffee here. Well, downstairs, there was. But she couldn’t go there. Not like this. Searching his physique for a clue to whether or not he’d been serious, Hermione became more and more anxious that he had been. He wasn’t acknowledging her presence anymore and had transfigured the chair into a comfortable recliner, lounging like he had all the time in the world.  
  
‘I … I can’t go to the kitchen,’ she whispered, worried.  
  
Coldly, Lord Voldemort’s eyes flickered to her.  
  
‘What if they see me? There could be Aurors there.’  
  
He shrugged. ‘You can stay here.’  
  
Hermione let out a relieved breath.  
  
‘On the ground, on your knees, never getting a release and,’ he checked the time, ‘I will leave in two hours tops, no matter what condition you’re in.’  
  
Her eyes widened. ‘B-but,’ she stuttered, shocked.  
  
‘Coffee.’  
  
Two syllables, one word, that was all he offered.  
  
Hermione braced herself before scrambling to her feet. Hesitantly, she walked to the door, her mind going over her lousy situation rapidly. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. If someone saw her … But if she made it, he would–   
  
Wait a sec!  
  
Swiftly, she turned around. ‘You will help me if I bring you your coffee?’  
  
A slight upward curl showed around Voldemort’s mouth, and for a second, his slit-pupils focused on her with a vicious delight before he turned his head away and seemingly stared out the window as if the scenery were mighty interesting, much more so than the now conflicted girl in the room.  
  
‘Voldemort?’ Hermione asked with emphasis, wanting to get some kind of reassurance she wasn’t going down there for nothing.  
  
There was no reply.  
  
‘My Lord? Master? Please,’ she tried.  
  
‘One hour and fifty-five minutes.’  
  
The door flung shut behind Hermione’s running form, causing him to grin at her sudden haste. This was going to be real entertaining. She’d forgotten to ask something pretty vital. His eerie laugh filled the room, and Fleur briefly stirred as if she’d a nightmare.  
  
Hermione was glad Ginny’s bedroom was on the first floor. She didn’t want to think about having to sneak down all the steps, past all the chambers. Now all she had to worry about was someone being in the kitchen when she got there. She rested her ear against the kitchen door. It was quiet. So far, it seemed like their nightly watchers were all outside. She hoped it would stay that way as she entered the kitchen and closed the door carefully behind her. All that sneaking around at Hogwarts surely paid off now.  
  
Within no time, she held the bag of coffee beans in her hand and dumped them in Molly’s coffeemaker. She was about to wave her wand to activate it when she recalled how much of a ruckus that machine made. She’d wake up the entire household and alert everyone in a six mile radius.  
  
‘Muffliato!’  
  
Next, she jabbed her wand at the coffeemaker and she looked nervously to both doors in the kitchen, waiting for someone to detect the loud noise of grinding beans and the high-pitched “squee” of the motor over her Muffling Charm. When the grinding was done and boiling hot water poured on the coffee, she leaned against the kitchen sink, absentmindedly scratching herself in an intimate place. It brought her no relief. She was absolutely certain now he needed to bring her. Bouncing on her heels, she stared at the coffeemaker, willing it to move faster. When it was nearly done, she summoned a mug from the cabinet and barely waited for the dripping to stop before she poured. Glad it was done, she hurried out of there and tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the fourth step which always creaked. Swiftly, she moved indoors, her eyes blinking at the blazing light that greeted her as she walked to Voldemort and held out the mug, making sure not to smash it into the barrier.  
  
‘Your coffee, my Lord,’ she said politely.  
  
He didn’t move. He just kept watching the scenery. Hermione furrowed her brow and looked into the mug. It was perfectly fine, just as he always took it. Why was he ignoring her? Could it be because she was standing? Careful not to spill the hot beverage, Hermione moved to her knees and repeated her offering.  
  
Voldemort turned his head, shot one glance in the mug and said, ‘I take milk in my coffee after midnight.’  
  
Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself to stay quiet. Countless descriptive terms, none flattering, rushed through her mind as she scrambled back to her feet.  
  
 _Milk, he wants milk. Arse._    
  
She was about to open the door when a bolt of yellow struck her. She felt a snap of elastic and fabric falling down her legs. Shocked, she looked down. Pooled at her feet were the remainders of her underwear. He’d shredded them. Taking a deep breath, she decided not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her protest – her nightgown was long enough to cover her private parts anyway. Ignoring the fabric on the floor, she moved along.  
  
However, when she got to the refrigerator, she was faced with another problem. What kind of milk did he want? If he wanted skimmed milk, she had a problem because Molly only bought whole milk, the fattiest kind. But he could also prefer evaporated milk as many did in their coffee. And she also had a bottle of goat’s milk, soy milk and even a can of coconut milk. Though Hermione doubted he wanted them in his coffee, she wouldn’t put it past him to say so just to make her go down again. So, she picked up the tray from the table and placed the mug and five little jugs (for each flavour milk) on it, poured the milk in them, and grabbed a couple of bags of sugar in her hand on her way out, just in case he’d suddenly decide that he liked sugar in his coffee after midnight.  
  
‘Your coffee, my Lord,’ Hermione said, sitting on her knees in front of him again. ‘I have whole milk, evaporated milk, goat’s milk, soy milk or coconut milk for you.’  
  
He glanced sideways and almost lost his composure at her display of little milk jugs. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly before that cool, blank façade returned.  
  
‘No sugar?’ Voldemort said sweetly.  
  
 _Haha! Got you. I knew it_ , Hermione thought triumphantly, opening her hand and dumping the sachets on the tray. ‘How many sachets, Master?’ she replied in a similar sweet tone of voice.  
  
She held her head down to avoid him seeing her expression, but she basically sensed his glare, burning into her.  
  
 _Glare all you want, I won’t have to go downstairs again._  
  
‘One is fine,’ Voldemort replied evenly.  
  
As she waved her wand, adding the sugar to his mug, she looked up expectantly for his choice in milk. He picked whole and that was the end of that song and dance, Hermione knew.  
  
She was wrong.  
  
‘Forgot a spoon?’ Voldemort said, eyeing her triumphantly.  
  
 _Crap._  
  
‘Or do you expect me to stir with my finger?’  
  
 _I have a finger for you._  Yet, she raised her wand to mix the beverage instead.  
  
‘Oh no,’ Voldemort said, amused. ‘Coffee needs to be stirred by a spoon not magic.’  
  
 _Oh, of course, **now**  he’s suddenly promoting Muggle methods._  
  
However, there was no need to walk down for a teaspoon. Hermione flicked her wand at the door. ‘Accio teaspoon!’  
  
She resisted the insane urge to stick out her tongue at him and waited till the spoon fell in her hand. Again, she offered him the damn mug, and again, he merely eyed her, not accepting it.  
  
‘Coffee is supposed to be steaming hot. Even insipid Muggles know that much, Mudblood,’ he sneered.  
  
‘Let me guess, using a Heating Charm is out of the question,’ she sneered back.  
  
‘Naturally,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Reheating coffee is plain revolting. I am glad your tiny brain at least knows that.’  
  
With a smash, she slammed the mug back on the tray, coffee sloshing over the rim and her hand. She completely ignored that he had a point - it didn’t even sting a little bit to come in contact with the lukewarm fluid.  
  
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk, still so little self-control,’ Voldemort taunted as she rose. ‘Turn around,’ he ordered when she was about to pick up the tray.  
  
Confused, Hermione left it there and turned around.  
  
‘Raise your nightgown and spread your legs.’  
  
Her excitement rose, feeling her belly clench, as she eagerly complied to this demand. Finally. Action. She’d been dying during his coffee theatrics.  
  
‘Good girl,’ he purred behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding his other out to show her the two balls on a string in his hand.  
  
‘What’s that for?’ asked Hermione curiously.  
  
‘You’ll see … or rather feel. Open your mouth, they need to be moisturised.’  
  
He inserted them into her mouth, and as they pressed against her tongue, she realised there were little ridges on them. She felt utterly ridiculous, standing there with two balls in her mouth.  
  
 _Great, I am a hamster_ , Hermione thought, giggling and thus nearly spitting the balls out prematurely.  
  
‘Since they will go inside you, I recommend you take your job seriously. It won’t be my problem if getting them in hurts you,’ Voldemort warned, kissing the crook of her neck.  
  
Even that minor bit of attention, him holding her against his body, that one kiss, his breath against her skin, was enough to make her come undone. Her aggravation with his ridiculous demands had slightly taken away her attention of the force of her lust, but now, her body was throbbing in desire again. Reflexively, she sucked on the balls, twirling her tongue around them, while she rubbed her back against him. This was nice. She moaned, wanting more.  
  
‘That’ll do,’ he said with contained laughter in his voice, removing them from her mouth. ‘Bend over. Hands on your ankles.’  
  
It was a bit hard to achieve since he held his arm around her waist, keeping her nightgown up, but she managed, waiting eagerly for what was to come. However, when his fingers stroked her sex, her knees buckled and she realised why he’d kept his arm around her waist, for she would’ve fallen flat on her face otherwise. He yanked her back on her feet roughly and hissed, ‘Keep still, Granger.’  
  
She yelped when he slapped her bottom. Of course, there was no way she could stay still when he expertly teased her clit with his fingers as he inserted the balls into her core. She kept standing, but that was all. Hermione wriggled and twisted, trying to give an out to this earth-shattering pleasure rushing through her. It was far too much and she just had to move or she’d go crazy. She knew it.  
  
Voldemort clicked with his tongue disapprovingly. ‘It seems you’re incapable to follow even the simplest of commands, Mudblood,’ he spoke amused. ‘Perhaps a good spanking will get your brain to start functioning again? Let’s see if ten will do the trick.’  
  
Before she had a chance to process his words, his hand landed on her bun with a harsh smack. Another yelp left her lips, but beside pain, she felt something else. Confused, Hermione squirmed slightly as he called out ‘one’ and smacked her again. This time, she noticed what sent that delicious feeling through her: it were the balls, moving forward inside her with his slaps.  
  
‘Two,’ Voldemort coolly said, ‘you do the rest of the counting.’  
  
 **Smack!**  
  
‘Three,’ she yelled. Her left cheek stung and burned red already from his hard slaps. However, the balls gave her a whole different sensation as they massaged her walls with their movement. And she wanted to feel that again.  
  
‘Four.’  
  
And again.  
  
‘Five.’  
  
And again.  
  
‘Six,’ Hermione moaned in desire. She wanted to touch herself, wanted to touch him, wanted to turn around and fuck him, but she also wanted him to continue this. Even if it hurt. And it did. But it also felt  _soooo_  good.  
  
‘Seven.’  
  
Too good. She couldn’t take it. It was just too much pleasure.  
  
‘Eight!’ she howled. ‘Oh God, stop, please.’  
  
‘Nine,’ she moaned. ‘Please, it’s too – too much.’  
  
He merely chuckled. ‘It’s punishment, Granger,’ he said, caressing her red and painful behind gently. ‘You’ll just have to take that last one.’  
  
 **Smack!**  
  
‘Ooooh.’ Her legs gave way again and she dangled in his arms, rubbing her thighs together to relieve some of the aching pleasure.  
  
‘I didn’t hear you count,’ Voldemort said blankly, pulling her back on her feet. ‘Put your hands back around your ankles. We’ll do that last one again and should you fall or fail to count, I will start anew.’  
  
She swallowed. Not ten more! She’d be ready for the permanent ward at St. Mungo’s then. Her mind had no more room for any more of these delicious, over-the-top sensations running amok in her body. She had to keep standing, had to take this last one, had to count out loud. Hermione bit her lip; her whole body tensed for the impact.  
  
‘Maybe then, you’ll learn to behave,’ Voldemort added coldly.  
  
 **Smack!**  
  
‘Ten!’ she quickly yelled, swaying on her legs as pleasure and pain soared through her once more.  
  
Breathing heavily, she realised she’d done it. She was still standing. No more. Thank Merlin.  
  
‘Good girl,’ Voldemort hissed. ‘Now go get my coffee.’  
  
She crashed to the floor in a crumpled and panting heap as he let go. For a moment, she just lay there, not caring about anything but the itching pleasure. She ran her hands over her body, wanting to satisfy its needs. It was soaked in perspiration, she realised, trying to cool down the heat. And failing miserably. She had to get a release. This had to stop.  
  
A not so gentle kick in her behind made her scream at the top of her lungs. Her hands flew to her hair, clutching on it in despair. Too much, far too much.  
  
‘Coffee, Mudblood. I won’t ask again.’  
  
 _Ask? Gee, someone’s in need of a dictionary._  
  
Trying to regain her composure, she took several deep breaths before carefully scrambling to her feet. She wobbled a bit at first, so she stayed still, waiting until she was certain her legs would hold her when she moved.  
  
 _Merlin, I am exhausted and we’ve hardly done anything._  
  
‘It’s the lust spell,’ Voldemort explained. ‘Since you foolishly thwarted my first one, you got stuck with the repercussions of the enhanced version. It’s a significantly larger drain on your energy and you’ll only notice it when you’re not engaged with the object of your desire.’  
Here, he looked positively smug in her direction.  
  
‘I noticed I was tired during,’ Hermione lied, wanting to wipe that smug expression of his face.  
  
‘Oh really?’ he asked teasingly, taking a step back in her direction. ‘Should I test that?’ he added, flexing his hand.  
  
‘No,’ she said fearfully, hurrying towards the tray, ignoring his laughter. As she bent over to pick it up from the floor, the balls moved inside of her, and she was just in time to grab the nearby chair for support and lower herself carefully to her knees.  
  
 _Oh God, this is going to be problematic._  
  
She squirmed her thighs together and shook her limbs as if to shake of the bliss. Determined, she grabbed the tray and got up carefully. This wasn’t going to work. With a flick of her wand, she banished the tray to the kitchen.  
  
‘Smart move,’ Voldemort complimented, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. ‘I was already wondering how you’d go down the stairs with your hands full like that.’  
  
 _The stairs! Oh no._  
  
Horrified, she looked at him. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘don’t make me –’  
  
‘The longer you’re under the spell, the worse it gets, Hermione. If I were you, I’d hurry and get that coffee before you become incapacitated.’  
  
‘Please.’  
  
‘Go.’  
  
Resigning to her fate, Hermione walked out. At the top of the stairs, she looked doubtful. Walking horizontally didn’t give much of a reaction, but going vertically probably would. She didn’t want to crash, so she grabbed a hold of the railing with both hands and started moving. It was as bad as she’d expected. Delicious tingles danced in her belly, skating over her nerves to her extremities. More and more of her fluids dripped from her fanny, sticking to the inside of her thighs. And a couple of times, she had to stop and rest her head against the wall. If she didn’t think Voldemort would’ve done something to alert him if she removed the balls, she would’ve yanked them out. But right now, she felt it was not a good idea to tempt him even further. When she was downstairs, she let out a relieved sigh.  
  
 _Made it._  
  
Being beyond caring if someone could be there or not, she walked into the kitchen. It was empty. Leaning against the kitchen table, Hermione flicked her wand. Coffee beans flew into the coffeemaker again and she quickly made another cup. When It was done, she realised she’d forgotten to muffle the sound of the grinding. Yet, nobody had come.  
  
Hermione frowned.  
  
Come to think of it, she had screamed rather loudly, and nobody had come then either. What had he done? She walked to the window and stared out in the dark, looking for their nightly watch. She felt relieved when she saw movement beyond the pond. They were alright.  
  
Wanting to avoid having to listen to another complaint about the temperature of the coffee, she moved away from the window and continued her task. Just in case he planned to alter his choices in what he wanted inside his coffee, she put the new cup along with new little milk jugs and the sugar and a teaspoon on the tray. She just knew if she were to assume he wanted the same thing, he’d torture her by altering it.  
  
‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ she cast, making the tray hover in front of her.  
  
When she got to the hall, she levitated it all the way up the stairs, landing it in front of Ginny’s bedroom door before moving up the stairs herself. Don’t ask how, but she did it.  
  
Lord Voldemort was lounging in his reclining chair when she entered, the tray hovering behind her. She lowered it at his feet, and then, knelt down herself; her face as red as the ripest tomato. For a brief moment, she paused, catching her breath and her sanity, and pushed her desire away.  
  
‘I have your coffee, my Lord,’ she said humbly.  
  
Voldemort turned his attention to her tray and smirked. ‘Do you have such insignificant memory skills that you couldn’t recall what I had in my coffee?’  
  
‘No, my Lord, I just wanted to offer you the choice again,’ she replied crafty.  
  
He snorted. ‘You mean you were worried I’d have you go downstairs again,’ he said, glancing at her mockingly.  
  
Hermione remained silent. Her head bowed to the ground. That way at least he couldn’t use Legilimency and torture her further for what was in her mind. Suddenly, his hand was in her hair. She jolted in surprise.  
  
‘You do look positively delicious in this posture, pet,’ he said sibilantly, petting her. ‘I’ll have my coffee the same way.’  
  
‘Whole milk and one sugar sachet, Master?’ Hermione asked. Eh, she wasn’t crazy. If she’d just added it, he’d have told her he always drank his coffee black. She just knew it.  
  
‘Yes, my little one.’  
  
She could tell by the entertained tone of his voice he’d realised she’d seen through his plot. She’d been right. He was planning to have her go down again. Well, she just had to make that impossible by doing nothing wrong. Carefully, she added the sugar and milk, placed the teaspoon in the coffee and held it out to him, lifting her head. His hand dropped to her neck and she briefly swayed when his long fingers massaged her muscles.  
  
He was trying to get her to spill, she realised panicky. Fortunately, she’d been able to keep the cup level, and a triumphant expression appeared on her face as she said once again, ‘Your coffee, my Lord.’  
  
For a brief moment, it was silent.  
  
‘Was that milk hot when you poured it in?’ he asked sweetly.  
  
Hermione groaned in irritation. She wanted to scream ‘Noooo!’ at him because he knew full well the milk was cold when she’d poured it.  
  
‘Did you want it hot, my Lord?’ she asked. Even though her words were polite, the gritting of teeth surely wasn’t.  
  
‘I think I do,’ he said viciously, giving her neck a good squeeze before ushering her out with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
  
Hermione sighed and placed the coffee back on the tray. Stomping out of the bedroom, she didn’t see the Dark Lord shaking with laughter in his chair. Not much later, she was back and they went through the same song and dance routine again. Finally, Hermione had his coffee done to perfection.  
  
Or so she thought.  
  
‘Is that decaf?’  
  
 _He had to be shitting her._  
  
‘No, it is not,’ she snapped. ‘I also don’t have a straw or a little umbrella or a chocolate chip cookie with it. And oh my, this is a red mug. You can’t possibly drink coffee from a red mug. The insolence. It needs to be green. So I bring a green one, but then, it’s a mug. And you need a gold, no, silver-rimmed cup for your highness’s lips. Eek!’  
  
He’d yanked her from the floor with a fist in her nightgown as he’d exited the chair. The gown’s fabric protested against this rough treatment but held long enough for him to toss her into the chair before it ripped to shreds. His magic curled around her and the chair shifted, changing from a comfortable recliner to a cross between a medieval torture instrument and a gynaecology chair. She tried to get out, but leather bindings formed around her wrists and neck and yanked her back into place, her hands tied behind her head. Her legs were thrust into the stirrups. Metal chains clasped into place, making it impossible to move them. His hand curved around the cord dangling out her sex. Roughly, he yanked the balls out in a single move.  
  
‘Oooh!’ Hermione moaned, squirming in her binds.  
  
Then, Voldemort waved his wand and the stirrups parted. Further and further. Stretching the limits of her leg muscles, while exposing her most intimate areas fully. Then, another wave and the chair moved through the air, turning the back up, so she was sitting ramrod straight with only a little board underneath each cheek for support. It was actually quite painful to sit on these hard boards after he’d spanked her, but that was the least of Hermione’s worries.  
  
‘I am going to fall,’ she said panicky, for she had the feeling she was sliding off the chair, and then, she’d be hanging on that tight collar around her neck.   
  
Voldemort stepped between her legs. ‘You will only fall if I wish it or if you move too much without orders.’  
  
That wasn’t much reassurance to Hermione, tuning her fear up a notch. ‘Get me out of here!’ she yelled.  
  
He closed the distance between them, pressing his tall frame against her while placing one hand on her hip and another underneath her chin. She gasped from the contact she’d wanted and suddenly had, closing her eyes to savour the feeling.  
  
‘Yessss, that is it, Hermione,’ he stated calmly. ‘Breathe and relax. Feel my body against you. You can’t fall now, can you?’  
  
Lightly, she shook her head, her nose rubbing against the robes on his chest. ‘But I am scared I will … later,’ she said hoarsely.  
  
‘Will I let harm befall upon you?’ he asked mildly.  
  
‘Well …’ Hermione made a face and looked up to meet his eyes. ‘You are who you are.’  
  
‘True,’ he acknowledged. ‘But do you think I will damage you beyond repair?’  
  
Thoughtfully, she took in his words before answering. ‘Not now.’  
  
A knowing smile curved around his mouth. ‘Insightful answer,’ he complimented, staring at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.  
  
‘How come nobody heard me scream?’ Hermione asked, not quite liking that response and desperate to change the attention away from it. ‘What did you do to them?’  
  
‘I placed them temporarily out of sync with the rest of the world.’  
  
Hermione gasped, horrified. That was an incredibly dangerous curse to cast. Even more forbidden than the Unforgivables. It could cause a crack in space and time, and as such, destroy everything. She only knew about it because she had to read all the rules before she was allowed possession of the Time-Turner. The curse itself, however, was kept classified. There wasn’t a single textbook in the world that still contained the words. Because it was so dangerous, for once, all the Ministries of the world had agreed on one thing: This curse should be banned by all means necessary.  
  
‘But – but …’  
  
‘It only works for a limited amount of time and space. After that nature kicks in and resets the situation; so, I have to undo the curse before we all perish,’ he added lightly.   
  
His fingers trailed past the collar around her neck. It was a nice feeling. A really nice feeling. She didn’t want him to stop. But she didn’t want the world to end either. Shouldn’t she say something about that curse?  
  
 _Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione_ , she told herself firmly,  _the end of the world will be his end, too. He wouldn’t have cast that spell unless he can control it._  
  
Her mind reeled about how powerful he had to be to force this spell to work. It was inconceivable, especially since he had it working for quite some time now. According to “Guidelines and Rules in Dimensions” it was only possible to do this for a few minutes before space around the area would start to rupture. And in one rare occasion, there had been a temporal incident with time shattering instead of space. The US Ministry had done all they could to seal off the dangerous area permanently. Even Muggles had heard of the Bermuda triangle and the strange things that occurred there. What they didn’t know was the cause: the Magical Research Base at the bottom of the Atlantic where Albert Monocle screwed up big time. No pun intended.  
  
Yet, right before her stood a wizard who didn’t break a sweat performing exactly that spell. Amazing. Unbelievable. And oh so desirable.  
  
‘How can you possibly keep it so stable?’ Hermione asked curiously.  
  
‘I made a slight deviation in the wording,’ he responded casually. Then, he tilted his head and watched her thoughtfully. ‘No rant about the illegality of the curse?’  
  
She made a face. ‘Why bother? It would be like talking to a brick wall.’  
  
He snorted. ‘No stop or we’ll all going to die?’  
  
‘I don’t think you’d risk your life, so you have to be sure of your abilities to cast it.’  
  
‘And you’re confident in my insight of my magic?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘Then, do you think I will allow you to suffocate?’  
  
‘No,’ she answered immediately. He couldn’t afford her to die since it would mean his death, too.  
  
‘Then, trust me,’ he breathed against her lips, watching delighted how she tried to move her head to close the distance. Her panic had briefly thrust away her lust, but he knew how to revive it. ‘Trust me to know that you will enjoy this.’   
  
She bit her lip, unsure.  
  
His fingernails raked over her naked body, making her twist and moan.  
  
‘Say yes, Hermione,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Say yes, you know you want to.’ He licked her earlobe. ‘Your whole body is expressing your need beautifully.’ He licked the skin along the rim of her collar, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin just below it and sucking hard. She’d have a hickey there in the morning.  
  
‘Say yes, my little apprentice, and you will get exactly what you deserve,’ he added darkly in her other ear. ‘Trust me,’ he ended, gazing directly into her eyes.  
  
 _I do_ , Hermione realised as she drowned in his gaze. ‘Yes.’  
  
His gaze intensified as he tilted her head and captured her lips with his mouth. For a while, they did nothing else but kiss and she loved every second of it, especially the part of him roaming his hands through her hair during. When he brought his hands down, caressing the side of her body, he broke off the kiss. A stream of hissing noises left his lips against her glistening skin; magic coiled around her, like a brush of cool wind against her hot flesh. Hermione couldn’t help it – she arched her back in reaction and slid off the chair.  
  
But his hands were already there, underneath her thighs and he held her up, preventing her from suffocating and pushing her back on the seat, shaving her already reddened buttocks on the hard boards. Hermione winced but couldn’t focus on the pain when his body pressed back up against her. Harder this time. She really did like that feeling of being held so tightly.  
  
‘Careful, dear,’ he whispered against her skin. ‘I did warn you not to move.’  
  
‘What did you just do?’ Hermione asked, wondering what that spell was for.  
  
‘This,’ he said, smirking wickedly, and then, Voldemort touched her cheek with his lips softly.  
  
Swiftly, he trailed kisses all over her jawline, and with his hands, he kneaded the muscles at the back of her legs. Then, he stopped and looked at her expectantly. The weirdest thing was that it didn’t stop. Wherever he’d just touched her with either his hands or his mouth, she still felt it. She was still being kissed, her legs still massaged, while he just stood there, doing nothing. Hermione realised that had to be the spell’s doing: It made her relive every touch, every caress, every kiss over and over and over again.  
  
‘Oh yesss,’ Voldemort hissed, pleased, ‘and I plan to explore every inch of your sweet, little body tonight.’  
  
Then, he began his assault in earnest. His fingertips followed the contours of her body, dancing lightly over her skin. Goosebumps erupted in its wake, while his mouth licked and sucked his way across her collarbone. Hermione twitched, nearly sliding off the chair again.  
  
‘Careful, or you’ll fall,’ he warned teasingly, placing featherlight kisses on the inside of her arms.  
  
It was the most unusual experience of a lifetime. An unending, growing number of caresses and kisses stimulating her body all over. She didn’t know where to look, what to do and how to take this overpowering pleasure. And he hadn’t even touched her most sensitive areas yet!  
  
Then, his hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them mildly. With slow circular movements, he explored every inch of skin and then flipped his thumbs over her nipples. His eyes trained on her breasts, he began working her nipples into a hard peak with an interchange of soft caresses, squeezes and pulls. Suddenly, he pinched them real hard and she let out a surprised shriek.  
  
‘That hurt,’ she accused, pissed at him because he knew that spell of his would make her feel it continuously.  
  
‘Which you will love when I combine it with this.’ His mouth curved around her nipple, and then, he sucked hard.  
  
Electricity shot to her core and she let out an excited moan. Teasingly tardy, he moved his mouth to her other breast and hovered above her nipple for a moment – forcing her to deal with the continuous sensation of being sucked, caressed and pinched harshly in her nipple. Hermione’s face was beet red and she’d closed her eyes, her face contorted in what many would misperceive as pain. His tongue flicked out, barely touching her other nipple. She bucked in her restraints, slipping off the chair’s seat again. He’d caught her underneath her thighs but lower than before, allowing the collar to dig into her throat. As she gasped for air, her world swirling, he captured her nipple and sucked on it hard. Her ragged scream made him smile while she bucked against him, unable to stay still, trying to get away from what was the most exquisite torture she’d ever felt.  
  
With absurd ease, he lifted her back into the seat and watched briefly how she caught her breath – her face perspiring and her eyes gazing at him with wild amazement.  
  
‘How, oooooh,’ she squirmed when another rush ran through her.  
  
‘Feels nice, doesn’t it?’ he breathed against her ear, holding her in place with his body. ‘Pain, pleasure, a brief lack of oxygen, all of it can severely enhance your climax. And you will come for me many times tonight, little one.’  
  
‘Oh yesss,’ Hermione moaned. That was exactly what she wanted, needed.  
  
He chuckled, his hands stroking the outside of her thighs, the top of them ... He watched amused how she braced herself when his fingers darted closer and closer to the more sensitive inside of her thighs. As expected, she couldn’t keep still and he had to press his hips against her lower body to keep her seated, while she yelled out her delight upon his exploration of her legs. Placing both hands firmly on her hips, he abruptly squatted, pressed his mouth over that sensitive nub and sucked. Her whole body thrashed, and he stepped back, watching her fall and scream out her first orgasm at the top of her lungs, until she gagged and coughed for air.  
  
He waved his hand through the air and she landed back in her seat, gasping and shivering from the after trembles of her high, while he closed the distance between them.  
  
‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ Hermione breathed, bewildered.  
  
‘How’s that?’  
  
‘Amazing,’ she whispered, out of breath, ‘and ooooooh, it’s not over.’ She groaned, screwing her face together.  
  
His hands grabbed her face, tilting it slightly. They kissed with extreme verve, deeper and deeper, till the world swirled around her again and her muffled scream accompanied her second climax. When he stopped kissing her, she didn’t even notice, the feeling was still there: on-going, relentless, exhilarating. Her whole body was caught in this frenzy. She’d no idea one man could stimulate her in so many places at the same time. No idea one man would own her body, her pleasure, and then, up the ante to the next level and the next. It felt like a thousand hands were touching her, a thousand mouths kissing her, and she lost all concept of reality as she reached her peak over and over again, her pussy clenching painfully at the emptiness.  
  
Her vision obscured by the stars that kept shooting from her oxygen deprivation, she’d no idea he’d long ago stepped away from her and seated himself in the chair, watching her intensely as she came for him. Multiple times. So many times, he’d lost count, while he kept repositioning her back on her seat whenever she’d dangled on her neck long enough to his satisfaction. He could tell she was completely out of it, had stopped caring about anything else but enhancing her pleasure. She no longer fell from her seat; she pushed herself out of it, wanting to come quicker. Harder. Judging from the pool that had formed underneath her, she was succeeding. He had to keep a close watch or she would kill herself in her current state.  
  
But he didn’t mind that. He loved watching her like this. She was magnificent in her surrender, her body completely at his disposal. He loved seeing her writhe and twist, trying to satisfy that one need inside he hadn’t quenched yet. Her expression became more and more a show of that aching pain, that crazed desire to be filled. By Him. It aroused him to hear her scream, see her ache for his presence as her inner muscles clearly clenched at a void that would seem larger to her with every passing second.  
  
 _And they call the Cruciatus Curse torture_ , he thought mockingly.  _Amateurs._  
  
As Hermione reached another orgasm and ejaculated, again, he decided it was time. Lithely, he exited his seat and approached her naked, glistening, shaking body, dangling once again on the leather collar – not even caring she was suffocating. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed her back in her seat. Another flick and his robes opened, making his rock-hard cock spring free. It had been in that condition for quite some time now, and it was finally going to be where it wanted: inside her tight, wet, hot cavern.  
  
With his hand, he brushed the tip against her opening. Hermione’s immediate reaction darkened his eyes in lust. She gasped in surprise, her pupils so wide he was sure she couldn’t see a thing anymore. Her hips jolted forward as she tried to get him inside, merely succeeding in falling. He yanked her up, roughly.  
  
‘Stay still,’ he hissed.  
  
His voice froze her in place, though she was still trembling in need. Carefully, he placed the tip against her opening again and put his hands on her hips, grasping her firmly. He could tell from the way she held herself she was using up every last bit of her restraint not to move. Deliberately slow, he pushed the head inside, taking expert care in monitoring her facial expressions. She obviously wanted a lot more, judging by that lovely tortured look on her face. It made him want to prolong her suffering, just to lengthen the proof of his dominion over the girl. So, he eased himself out again and was instantaneously rewarded by her desperate cry and the hopelessness, which hang around her like a dark aura. Such a wonderful dark aura. He could bathe in it. Delicious.  
  
‘Beg,’ he ordered with vicious delight.  
  
‘Please.’  
  
‘Beg for my cock, pet,’ he said, rubbing the tip around her wet opening.  _Sweet Salazar, how he longed to be inside of her._  
  
‘Please, Master, please enter me. I am yours to fill. I need your cock inside of me, please. Please.’  
  
He wiped a strand of her hair out of her face and kissed her mouth hard. ‘You are so lovely when you admit who you belong to, Hermione. Tell me.’  
  
‘You. I belong to you, my Lord.’  
  
‘Yes, you do, pet,’ he said; his index finger drew circles around her opening, ‘so wet you are for me, so needy for my cock, so desperate to be taken by your master. You’ve become quite the Mudblood slut, have you not?’  
  
‘Yes, my Lord,’ she said obediently.  
  
‘Mudblood sluts need to be punished by their superiors, don’t they?’ he took her nipple in his mouth again.  
  
‘Oh yes,’ she groaned, ‘Master, please punish me!’  
  
He bit down. Her pain-filled scream was music to his ears. So, he rose again to witness her variety of expressions as he inserted his finger inside of her and massaged her inner walls. She clenched at him in reflex, frustrated by the lack of girth. He chuckled. ‘So wide you’ve become in your desire; here,’ he withdrew his finger and pushed it into her mouth, ‘taste yourself, little one.’  
  
Moaning, Hermione licked and sucked his finger.  
  
‘That mouth of yours is born to suck cock, Mudblood. When I find you worthy, you will be taught to take all of me there. But right now, you’re nothing but a worthless cunt ready, able and willing to service,’ he hissed demeaningly, watching how she sucked his finger harder and harder with each insult he tossed her way. She was loving it. ‘So, worthless cunt, what are you?’  
  
‘A worthless cunt,’ she replied, feeling her belly clench.  
  
‘What exactly?’ he added, frowning at her previous insufficient answer.  
  
‘Your worthless cunt, Master!’  
  
‘And don’t you ever forget it,’ he coldly spoke. ‘You’re mine. Mine to use in whatever way I deem fit. You will learn to obey me fully, cunt.’  
  
Slowly, he eased himself inside of her, enjoying how Hermione tilted her hips, accommodating herself for his considerable length and girth while his pulsing shaft filled her completely. She was such a perfect fit. He relished in the feel of her muscles clenching around him, massaging him wonderfully.  
  
Her face was set in wondrous relief, loving how finally that aching emptiness had been cured. How he forced her to stretch herself as far as possible. This was bliss.   
  
‘You feel delicious around me, little one,’ Voldemort breathed, keeping his position by pushing his hips firmly against hers. ‘But I believe your previous exercise has widened you a tad too far. You seem positively too comfortable with my presence. Let’s rectify that.’  
  
He placed his palm above the place they were joined and hissed something in Parseltongue again. The words lingered around her, made her even wetter. She loved the sound of it. Then, he pressed hard with his palm and she felt her walls move, tightening her around him, making him feel harder, larger and thicker. She squirmed slightly in discomfort. Now, it felt painful to have him there like he was stretching her to the point of rupture. And then, he started to move out … oh so dilatory and slow.  
  
Yes, she wanted that huge thing out.  
  
But as he retreated, that unpleasant, unwelcomed, aching emptiness rose again. And she no longer knew which was more undesirable: out or in? When only his head was still in, she groaned in frustrated need.  
  
Then, he started filling her up again. In that same tardy speed. Making her walls feel every inch of his advancement. She tried to relax, but the pain made her even tighter. He bumped her cervix when he was fully sheathed again and she screamed, begging him for mercy.  
  
‘Whose cunt was this again?’ he viciously asked, staying put.  
  
‘Oh god, yours. Please, it hurts.’  
  
‘And you will learn to take the pain for me, pet. You will learn to love how your discomfort pleases me. One day you’ll beg me to take you like this. You’ll beg me to hurt you more.’  
  
She squirmed.  
  
‘Oh yessss, delicious,’ he hissed, ‘squirm, move, fight me, do whatever you like, little one, it only makes you clench around me more. I love it.’  
  
‘Please.’  
  
‘You want me out?’  
  
‘Yes, please.’  
  
‘Very well,’ he said evenly, moving out in a steady and controlled manner.  
  
As he retreated, Hermione noticed that aching pain rising again, that undesirable feeling of having a huge empty cavern inside your belly, a void that required filling to stay alive. Her blood throbbed inside her and she let out a desperate scream.  
  
‘No! Stay, please!’ she yelled.  
  
He smirked knowingly and withdrew from her fully. Her muscles clenched and unclenched at nothing. After being filled, it was even more painful to not have anything there. Merlin, she needed him. It hurt not to have him inside. But it hurt to have him in, too.  
  
‘In or out, Granger? If your silly mind can reach one simple decision?’ he sneered, pressing his tip against her again.  
  
Her belly pooled in need. Lust rushed through her.  
  
‘Do you want to be thoroughly shagged?’ he added, watching amused how his spell did its work. ‘Fucked till you can no longer move? Ravished till the point of rupture?’  
  
‘Ooooh, yes,’ she moaned.  
  
‘Then, shut your trap and take it, bitch,’ he hissed, slamming into her in one sudden, hard push.  
  
‘AAAHHH!’ she shrieked, clenching around him in reflex as if it would stop his advancement.  
  
‘That’s better, cunt, service me.’  
  
He began moving in earnest. Hermione twisted and writhed in her bounds, feeling him stretch her, hard, and unable to stop him. She came long and hard, screaming his name loudly at her release.  
  
But he wasn’t done yet. And he started anew, pushing her boundaries further and further until she hardly recognised herself. She regressed into a screaming, panting, helpless, lust-filled thing, aimed at fulfilling her completion alone. He drew blood with his nails, bit her, withheld the air from her lungs, pounded into her with a vengeance, and she begged for more. She felt helpless, conquered, and desired in his care, as his cock touched every inch of her insides, thrusting, pulsating and rubbing. He made her yield, just like she’d always wanted. He forced her to deal with the pain, forced her to surrender, forced her to admit what she was. His property. His Mudblood. His slave.  
  
In return, he gifted her with knowledge, power and unbelievable ecstasy – pleasure beyond her wildest imagination.  
  
And Him.  
  
What more could she possibly want? The most powerful dark wizard around had chosen her. It was a heady feeling and she climaxed hard upon the realisation. This was where she belonged. This was who she should be. His.  
  
She rode out her orgasm upon his continuous thrust. His white face was perspiring heavily as he had to do all the work since she was restrained to the chair. His upper body arched, she could see his muscles working. He was magnificent. Lean and strong. And his stamina was beyond belief. She’d lost track how many times he’d made her scream, but he had yet to come for her. And her insides were already raw from the long term friction; her legs were screaming for release from the extension they were held in; her arms had lost all feeling from being held above her head for so long and her neck had an ugly red welt from the leather collar cutting into her skin every time she’d lost her seating.  
  
Yet, none of that mattered when he turned up the heat again. She didn’t even notice the soft creak of the bedroom door opening.  
  
‘Harder,’ Hermione moaned.  
  
‘My pleasure,’ Voldemort replied, panting while pointing his wand to the door.  
  
‘Oh my God!’ Molly slapped her hand in front of her mouth in horror while Arthur reached for his wand. Too late.  
  
They were flung through the air and slammed into Ginny’s wardrobe, unable to move and forced to watch.  
  
‘Get off her!’ Molly yelled, panicking when strands of Hermione’s former nightgown filled her mouth until she could no longer talk or breathe through it. Her nostrils flared in distress.  
  
‘Leave her alone, sick bastard!’ Arthur added, just before Hermione’s shredded underwear flew into his mouth and another strand of nightgown wrapped around his head, keeping it in. He sputtered briefly but grew silent when his efforts to spit it out were fruitless.  
  
‘Nice, students,’ Voldemort mocked. He slammed into Hermione and grabbed her head with both hands. ‘Show them how it’s done, Mudblood.’  
  
He licked her lips. In response, Hermione opened her mouth, allowing him full access. He took full advantage of her offering, exploring her moist cavern to his full content, while he let go of her head, raking his nails over her body once more. He moved away from her mouth and angled his upper body backwards. Disappointed, Hermione let out a soft moan.  
  
Yet, she stopped being disappointed when he cupped both her breasts and fondled them, squeezing harder and harder. He pinched both nipples at the same time he rotated his hips, forcing her to feel his cock at a different angle against her sore walls. It was an electrical overload in her brain and she screamed and bucked against him, dangling on her neck once more as she slid off the seat. His hands moved to her now exposed back. Spreading his fingers wide, he made sure the audience could see him dig his fingernails into Hermione’s skin before he tracked them all over her back as she slowly suffocated on her collar. Everything danced when he cupped her arse, fondled her cheeks and lifted her up the seat once more. Then, he began to pound into her all the while trailing her skin with his nails everywhere, leaving bleeding stripes in his wake, touching every inch of her body.  
  
‘You deserve this punishment, don’t you, Mudblood?’ he hissed.  
  
‘Oooh,’ Hermione moaned. ‘Yes, my Lord. Punish me.’  
  
‘This is what your kind is good for, born for. Show our captivated audience how well you fuck; how much your cunt desires my cock; how well you follow my orders.’  
  
‘Whatever my master wants,’ she replied, out of it as she felt the onset of another climax.  
  
‘You will scream my name when I tell you to come.’  
  
He rotated his hips again and Hermione opened her mouth.  
  
‘Not yet, whore,’ Voldemort snapped.  
  
Sweat dripped off her forehead as she desperately tried to stop her oncoming orgasm. ‘Please, please, Master, I can’t hold it.’  
  
‘Control yourself, wench,’ he hissed, placing his finger on her clit and massaging it expertly.  
  
‘Please, please, please,’ Hermione begged as she felt the impossibility of stopping what was inevitable. ‘Please, Master.’  
  
‘Go,’ he barked.  
  
He felt her ejaculate around him as she yelled his chosen name upon her completion. Her inner muscles kept clenching and unclenching as he kept himself still inside of her, watching her spiral out of control for him. Again. With a vicious smirk, he glanced sideways to the mortified faces of his captives before he focused back on Hermione. He’d planned to come into her pussy, but the sudden redheaded intrusion made him consider a more entertaining and creative method. To his delight, Hermione winced when he exited her. She’d have a hard time sitting and walking for a long time after this.  
  
‘Missing my cock already, Mudblood? Well, of course you do. Mudblood holes need stuffing, don’t they?’  
  
He tilted his head, watching her expectantly for the appropriate answer as he saw in her mind how her body was again becoming one aching throbbing mass of pure unadulterated lust.  
  
Hermione nodded vigorously.  
  
‘I have just the solution.’  
  
He twirled his hand through the air and a double-shafted vibrator landed in his hands. It was thicker and longer than him, and he took great delight in seeing her eyes widen in a combination of fear and desire. He held it in front of her mouth.  
  
‘Open wide,’ he mocked.  
  
She complied immediately and he pushed it halfway in. ‘Suck,’ he ordered coldly. ‘Show me how well you perform.’  
  
As she licked and sucked on the device, she enjoyed his degrading comments, his threats about what he was going to do to her next and for how long. Her body showed everyone just how much she liked it, as she was flushed and perspiring in excitement.  
  
‘Good girl,’ he purred, petting her on her head as he slowly withdrew the toy.  
  
A cord of saliva trailed from her mouth to the tip and it only broke when he positioned it in front of her rosebud and vagina. Unseen to the Weasleys, he flexed his magic and helped her relax her anus as he pushed both shafts into their respective cores as far as possible. Hermione stayed as still as she could, but she still winced and twisted at the agony of the size of it all. Her already fully abused vagina was protesting vehemently against this renewed entry, and her anus merely felt strange, itchy – almost like that huge thing had somehow shrunk upon entering. Hermione frowned, not knowing it was exactly what had happened to the anal toy since Voldemort had merely wanted to horrify the audience, not rupture her inexperienced bowels to shreds.  
  
Then, he turned the vibrator on, and she bucked and screamed violently from the sensations that rushed through her.  
  
‘Perhaps a lower setting?’ Voldemort grinned.  
  
He waved his wand, and she stopped thrashing around, even though the vibrations still felt wonderful inside.  
  
‘One more opening to fill,’ he said, smirking at her.  
  
More leather leashes appeared and wrapped around Hermione. Two formed a cross over her chest, pushing up her breasts as they tightened into her skin. One swung around her waist and several others twirled around her upper thighs and crotch, securing her to the chair until she couldn’t move an inch anymore. Then, the stirrups vanished. Tears sprung in her eyes and Hermione yelled in pain as her cramped up legs suddenly moved; her feet were folded underneath her arse, and then, another belt tied her ankles to her upper thigh. Voldemort checked if she was firmly secured and then, he lowered the chair until she sat on her knees before him, his rock hard cock pulsating in front of her face.  
  
Fascinated, Hermione watched how it seemed to have a life of its own. She couldn’t resist herself. She had to lick it. So, she did. Her tongue flicked out and touched the head. It was softer than she expected, but the taste wasn’t at all pleasant, making her withdraw while Voldemort chuckled in delight.  
  
‘You’re such an eager little cocksucker, Mudblood. Let’s see if you’re any good.’  
  
He placed his hands in her hair and pushed the tip against her lips. ‘Open wide. I better not feel any teeth or you will regret it.’  
  
Reluctantly, Hermione opened her mouth, allowing him to enter. Gently, she began to suck and lick, twirling her tongue around his shaft while keeping her teeth behind her lips, ignoring the sour taste of his precum. She changed the pressure at his command, followed every single one of his instructions, and began to enjoy the way he shifted on his feet when he liked something she did.   
  
Soon, soft moans erupted from his throat, making her feel firmly in charge despite her tied up and submissive position. Hermione absolutely loved how much of an effect she had on him this way. She smiled as his hands tightened in her hair as if he had to steady himself. And she tried to take him in farther, but her restraints held her back.  
  
‘Ooooh, yessss,’ he hissed sibilantly, ‘that loud, insolent, ever babbling mouth of yours was made to suck dick.’  
  
He shifted his hips and pushed in farther than was comfortable for her. Her gag reflex, however, kept her throat closed. A normal reaction, especially for a first timer, but it complicated matters. Voldemort pulled back and tried it again, reaching the same effect.  
  
Too bad.  
  
It seemed he had to teach her how to do this properly some other time. He knew he could force her to deep throat him, but it might do more damage than the brief gain he’d get from it.  
  
Besides, he preferred his audience to witness how much of a hold he already had over the girl and what better way than have her come screaming for him.  
  
Again.  
  
He smirked and withdrew his cock from her mouth. With a flick of his wrist, the chair flew up and he yanked out the vibrator.  
  
‘Time to finish this, witch,’ he hissed, slamming into her again.  
  
He could tell from her facial expression it wouldn’t take long. Lust spells were so useful. She was so far out of it, he wondered how much of her environment she really perceived. From the looks of things, not a whole lot. Too bad Legilimency on a dazed mind was a pretty useless endeavour, otherwise he’d be an eager intruder.  
  
However, right now, he had to settle for her body. A quite delicious little body. He wouldn’t mind having those legs around him.  
  
A snap of his fingers and the bounds on her legs vanished. Hermione let out another pain-filled scream when her legs stretched out, causing her muscles to cramp. He captured her mouth with his, muffling her sounds and pulled her against him, yanking her legs up to show her what he wanted from her. When she regained control over them, she obeyed eagerly, wrapping her legs around his back.  
  
Next, he unlocked her arms, placing them around his neck. When he was sure she had a firm hold of him, he banished the chair, taking a couple of steps to push her up against the door. He loved how she thrashed in his arms and he could feel the onset of his climax approaching. When he felt her clench around him upon her orgasm, it pushed him over the edge as well and he spilled his semen inside of her, breaking the curse she was under.  
  
Hermione had her head tilted backwards, leaning against the door as she panted heavily, feeling exhausted and sore unlike ever before. Finally, the world had come back into focus and she looked up to meet his two red eyes, gazing at her expectantly.  
  
‘Wow,’ was all she could utter, still clinging to his tall form.  
  
He smirked smugly, causing her to roll her eyes.  
  
‘No regrets?’  
  
‘None whatsoever.’  
  
‘You might have in a couple of hours,’ he teased warningly, ‘you’re going to be sore all over.’  
  
‘Already am. Don’t care,’ she replied shortly.  
  
‘I take it you enjoyed yourself,’ he said, amused at how she missed the Weasleys’ presence by being so utterly focused on him. As she should be.  
  
‘Very much,’ she acknowledged. ‘How about you?’  
  
‘Hmm…’ he tilted his head teasingly as if he had to think about it.  
  
Hermione lifted the arm behind his back and slapped him teasingly on the head.  
  
‘Oww, eh!’ He grabbed her wrist. ‘Never start something you can’t finish, Granger.’  
  
She wiggled her eyebrows at him daringly. ‘Who said I can’t finish?’  
  
He snorted and shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to, so consider yourself lucky. Do you think you can stand?’  
  
‘Ermm… I suppose.’ She looked down thoughtfully.  
  
He held her tightly, waiting for her to catch her footing. When he was sure she wouldn’t collapse, he stepped away from her, opening up the entire room to her view. Hermione slapped her hand in front of her mouth as she let out a horrified gasp. Quickly, she stumbled to the side and pulled her dressing gown around her exposed body as fast as she could.  
  
‘I think they saw the entire show already, dearest,’ Voldemort said with a teasing wink as his robes had magically folded around him when he'd stepped away from her.  
  
The furious glare she sent his way made him chuckle in delight. Abruptly, he turned away from her and swirled to the captured couple, halting right in front of them.  
  
‘It’s time we have a little chat, blood traitors,’ he hissed threateningly.  
  
xxx


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Cosettex for inspiring a food scene; read her fic “Of Elusive Realities and Convincing Facades” on FFnet.  
> Special thanks to Lady Miya and Serpent In Red for their help in discussing “exceptions”.  
> Even more thanks to Da Amazing Beta: Serpent In Red.

**Chapter 31**  
  
Leisurely, Voldemort strolled in front of the bound Weasleys before coming rather abruptly to a halt. His black robes settled down around him, no longer swaying due to the lack of movement but hanging stock still as a bad omen. Slowly, he drew his wand and focused on the yew wood between his fingers as he caressed it with his other hand in a contemplative manner. Hermione’s eyes darted nervously between him and the now extremely pale Weasleys. She had to do something, couldn’t just stand by and let them get hurt. Where was her wand? It had been in the wand-pocket of her shredded nightgown. So … perhaps somewhere on the floor? Her eyes scanned the environment.  
  
Unless he had pocketed it?  
  
Then, there was no way for her to do anything. Hopefully, it had just rolled away from the area where the chair had been. Cautiously, she checked further and almost let out a relieved breath when she saw it lying somewhat underneath her bed. Her relief was short-lived, however, since she basically had to walk quite a bit behind Voldemort to get to it and she doubted he wouldn’t notice if she started tiptoeing around.  
  
Maybe she could just pretend she was tired and wanted to lie down? It wouldn’t even be a lie. Every single cell of her body was exhausted. Knowing she wouldn’t need to occlude being tired and seeing Voldemort lift his head and focus his attention on Arthur, Hermione opened her mouth. She was out of time. She just had to work hard to prevent him from realising her plan was to get her wand.  _Now I … have the time of my life … and I owe it all to you._  
  
‘How can they possibly be here?’ she asked curiously. ‘Your spell … They shouldn’t be aware of us.’  
  
Slowly, Lord Voldemort turned around and watched her blankly.  
  
‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ she added defensively, placing her hands on her sides. It wasn’t a stupid question. There was no need for him to stare at her as if she were an idiot. Unless, he disapproved of her choice in songs. She barely managed to keep a straight face.  
  
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he quietly said.  
  
He was about to turn his attention back to the Weasleys when he got interrupted again by Hermione.  
  
‘But why aren’t the others …?’  
  
Her lips smacked together abruptly upon the deadly glare Voldemort sent her way. Raising her hands in supplication, she backed away towards her bed. He was now tapping his wand on his hand. She’d seen that behaviour before. Despite his other seemingly calm exterior, this little mannerism was a telltale sign of his growing impatience and she knew she had to tread lightly or she’d be writhing on the floor in pain.  
  
‘Sorry,’ she whispered meekly. ‘I was only curious how it were – oh…’  
  
She slapped her hand in front of her mouth upon her realisation: Their presence was no accident. It was the only possible answer if everyone else was still out of phase. He’d done it deliberately. Now she wanted to scream and rage at him, but judging by her previous assessment of his current temper, that wouldn’t get her any satisfaction, so she settled for glaring. His answer was an unapologetic smile. He’d clearly come to the conclusion she’d figured out what had happened because he gave her a taunting, devious wink. A scowl erupted on Hermione’s face, and she shook her head tiresomely.  _Always the stupid mind-games._  
  
‘Don’t disturb me again, Granger,’ he said with a clear warning undertone.  
  
‘I’ll just lie down here,’ she muttered, suppressing a yawn as she lowered herself on the bed, wincing when her sore behind touched the mattress.  
  
‘Tired? I’m not surprised,’ he sniggered. Then, he swiftly turned away from her and continued in a much colder and business-like tone of voice. ‘As I was saying, blood traitors, we need to have a little chat about your future ... or lack thereof.’  
  
Some incomprehensible mumbling came from Arthur Weasley’s gagged mouth as he moved around trying to get his voice heard. Voldemort’s high-pitch laugh accompanied his pathetic attempts while Hermione’s hand flew under the bed and swept around for her wand.  
  
‘Aww … does the pretend head of the family wishes to speak?’ Voldemort mocked, his hand gripping the gag. ‘And here I thought I’d be doing you a favour by graciously granting you the liberty to taste some unspoilt juices for a change.’  
  
Arthur turned red in anger and Molly twisted in worry as Voldemort yanked Hermione’s underwear out of Arthur’s mouth abruptly.  
  
‘You sick fuck,’ Arthur snapped, coughing, ‘she’s only sixteen.’  
  
Finally, Hermione felt the distinct smoothness of her wand with her fingertips. She pushed it away slightly and panicked for a brief moment at the thought that Voldemort would notice the noise, which sounded like a herd of stomping elephants to her ears. The wizard seemed, however, suitably distracted to notice the in reality barely audible scraping sound.  
  
‘How dare you rape her,’ Arthur ranted, furious.  
  
Careful not to move her wand again, Hermione placed her fingers on either side of the stick and lifted it slowly, concerned about dropping it.  
  
‘How dare I?’ Voldemort mocked. ‘Dare? As in I had to feel courageous or bold in taking her here because it was such a dangerous situation for me?’ His mocking laugh filled the room.  
  
Hermione bit her lip, holding her wand now firmly in her hand. What to cast? A Disarmament Charm felt too risky to her. He’d still be conscious then. If one were to attack the Dark Lord, one surely didn’t want him to be able to retaliate. On the other hand, anything too vile was bound to get her in trouble, too. So, what to cast? No spell that came to mind seemed even remotely sane to Hermione. Fortunately, he was quite the talker, giving her time to go over her options.  
  
‘I don’t recall any one of your Order Heroes even attempting to stop me, so I assure you, it didn’t take much “daring” at all.’ He snorted. ‘I could have my way with your wife and daughter next and it wouldn’t even be a challenge.’  
  
Reaching a decision, Hermione raised her wand at Lord Voldemort’s back. Arthur’s eyes widened and worry seeped from every pore of Molly’s body as she obviously was afraid for Hermione’s safety.  
  
‘Stupefy!’ Hermione yelled.  
  
For a moment, she felt the familiar tingle of magic rush inside her wand. Then, it suddenly burned red hot, sending a shock up her arm. She collapsed to the floor with a cry, her arms clutching to her belly as she rolled up in a ball, unable to do anything.  
  
‘Hermione!’ Arthur yelled. ‘Hermione!’  
  
‘Silence,’ Voldemort hissed, whipping his wand in Weasley’s direction.  
  
Satisfied that Arthur’s mouth was still moving but no sound was produced whatsoever, Voldemort glided to his victim curled on the ground. With a simple flick of his wrist, her wand flew in his hand and he pocketed it before coldly looking down on Hermione who was trying to move as little as possible to avoid the pain – even her breaths were shallow.  
  
By Godric, it hurt. It hurt so much she just wanted to die already.  _Someone kill me now._  
  
Darkness fell around her. She thought she was about to pass out, but no such relief was granted. No, the darkness came from his robes as he squatted beside her – like a dark halo forming around her body, unable to escape from, just like the pain. She tensed when his hand touched her neck and his fingers curled around the necklace there.  
  
Please, no more. She knew she couldn’t take anymore.  
  
‘Well,’ Voldemort hissed softly, ‘I did warn you not to try anything foolish with your wand when I handed it back to you. I never thought it would take you this long to cast something though. I was already beginning to question the validity of the Sorting Hat’s choice, but I suppose this proves you truly belong in that insipid, rash House.’  
  
Her silence was all the reply he got. Talking required moving one’s jaw, and any movement enhanced the pain, making her decide it wasn’t worth the effort.  
  
‘Has that insolent mouth of yours finally gone mute?’ he sneered in her ear while his hand gripped around the pendant. ‘What a delightful change.’  
  
Green light orbed around her, seeping from the pendant through his fingers. Then, he suddenly pressed the now warm stone against her bare skin. The warmth quickly spread through her, soothing the steel edge of the pain and making it slightly more bearable. It wasn’t over, but she dared to move again and lifted her tearstained head to meet his cold gaze.  
  
‘Next time, Granger, use the Dark Arts and try a real curse. You’ll find that the result will be …’ he spread out the fingers of both hands in a flash in front of her face, ‘spec…tacular.’  
  
Hermione swallowed, still clutching to her belly. She could just imagine how spectacular. Her eyes flickered nervously to the anxious Weasleys. Steeling herself for the pain, she opened her mouth. She had to try something, no matter how futile it might seem.  
  
‘Don’t kill them,’ she whispered so soft she knew the Weasleys wouldn’t be able to hear it. ‘Please.’  
  
Voldemort cocked his head. ‘You’re concerned I am going to kill them? How touching,’ he said out loud. ‘If only they cared about your safety just as much as you do for them.’ He rose to his feet and levitated her into bed. ‘Stay immobile and let the pendant heal the nerve damage you inflicted upon yourself,’ he advised matter-of-factly, before walking back to Arthur.  
  
‘Now, where was I?’ he asked in faux contemplation. ‘Oh yessss, wondering if that moral indignation isn’t envy in reality. After seven children…’ he glanced with a mocking smirk in Molly’s direction, ‘tell me, Arthur Weasley, does her cunt even touch your cock these days or is it such a wide tunnel the Hogwarts Express would fit through?’  
  
He flicked his wrist and Hermione’s underwear reappeared in his hand. Rubbing it under Arthur’s nose, he said sibilantly, ‘And Hermione does smell deliciously fresh, doesn’t she? So nice and tight she felt as she clenched around me. Don’t you wish you had someone like that? Or would you prefer to have her luscious mouth suck your dick as she did mine? Have her kneel before you with that youthful naked body, her perky little breasts … Well, what do you know …’ –he looked down condescendingly– ‘is that an arousal I see? You couldn’t possibly be aroused about something so vile as rape, would you, Saint Weasley?’  
  
He snorted, looking at Molly who was even redder than her husband.  
  
‘It seems your husband is even more useless than you already knew, Molly dearest. Apart from his silly profession which doesn’t require much skill or gains an even mediocre salary, he has an inability to protect his family from harm, and now, he also seems to have a predisposition to be unfaithful.’  
  
He turned his penetrating gaze back on Arthur, who couldn’t say anything, yet his embarrassed expression spoke volumes, not to mention his aggravated mind, which was an open book to the Dark Lord.  
  
‘How’s your freak collection? Been confiscated by the Ministry already? You no longer work at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, making it considerably more difficult to prevent your own indiscretions to go unnoticed. If you were on my side, you wouldn’t have to worry about such insipid regulations. You could collect as many Muggles and their insignificant,’ – here, Voldemort scowled– ‘…  _stuff_  to your heart’s content.’  
  
Voldemort paused, staring at the mute Weasley as if he were studying a particularly disgusting lab rat.  
  
‘But I am obviously talking to the wrong person here. You’re not the true boss of this family, are you, Arthur?’ He stepped back, shaking his head. ‘No, you obviously aren’t,’ he muttered more to himself. ‘I am wasting my time with you.’  
  
Lord Voldemort’s wand flashed. ‘Obliviate.’  
  
Another curl of his arm and a second curse struck Arthur, followed by a third and a fourth one in rapid succession.  
  
‘No!’ yelled Hermione, raising a hand, and then, gripping her waist quickly again, wishing she’d not moved as her belly cramped violently.  
  
Molly had closed her eyes, not wanting to see what occurred. Arthur’s eyes glazed over, and he stepped away from the wardrobe in a trance, moving out the door.  
  
‘Now that the waste of space is gone,’ Voldemort said calmly, ‘let us talk, Molly Weasley-Prewett. I think we can come to an understanding.’  
  
He pulled out her gag.  
  
Coughing a couple of times, Molly looked around desperately and hollered for help.  
  
‘This really is pointless, my dear. Nobody can hear you beside us.’  
  
‘Arthur! Oh God. Help, Alastor! Hel–’  
  
A spidery hand landed on her mouth, making her jolt in fear.  
  
‘Now I am getting irritated, Prewett. You don’t want me irritated with you,’ Voldemort said coldly, removing his hand and wiping it off on his robe, disgusted. ‘Think of what I could do to all your little children. How …  _easy_  it would be for me to go upstairs and finish off your baby girl. She’s already had the pleasure of meeting me once. What could be more delightful than a little reunion?’  
  
Horrified, Molly stared at him, her mouth ajar, no longer producing any sounds whatsoever – her mind obviously going over what she’d just seen him do to Hermione and not wanting that fate to be bestowed upon her only daughter as well.  
  
‘Good, I got your attention,’ he sibilantly spoke. ‘You know it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to be enemies. It would be a shame if I had to eradicate two such pure and old family lines. And I do recall your family wasn’t at all interested in Dumbledore’s cause before. You never joined the Order of the Phoenix during my first reign. You felt … disgraced for having a Muggle cousin, so you ostracised him, made sure his name was not to be mentioned in your family when I believe your husband would be all too pleased to ask his ears off about what it is accountants truly do. And … you never once supported your brothers or even went to their funerals.’  
  
Molly’s face turned pale.  
  
‘Yessss, I know that, Molly. There are many things you hope to keep a secret to the outside world I am well aware of. It wouldn’t even surprise me if the old coot knew, too. After all, he knew Fabian and Gideon for the outcasts they were in the Prewett family, avoided and ignored for their dangerous allegiance to all the wrong people. If your family would’ve had funds, I have no doubt they would’ve been disowned.  
  
No, you lot have always stayed on the sidelines of the conflict, sure that your blood would keep you safe as long as you didn’t step in my way. It must’ve been a huge kink in your plan that your son happened to be incredibly unwise in his choice in friends. Or did you not think much of it as long as you thought I was gone?  
  
Well, I am back now. And, more important for you in your current situation, I am willing to …  _overlook_  your folly in joining the Order. I know it wasn’t voluntarily, Molly. You were forced by circumstances beyond your control. I can even understand and appreciate how you tried to protect a child of wizarding blood from his abusive Muggle family. Admirable sentiment. It’s in line with your beliefs, isn’t it?’  
  
He shrugged.  
  
‘It’s how I believe the world should operate: Magic and magical children should be kept far away from scum that knows not how to deal with it. However, you don’t want to take your protection of the boy too far. After all, you don’t really want to oppose me and lose Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill and Arthur, do you?’ he asked, counting on his fingers demonstratively.  
  
Molly just stood there, trembling violently, not saying a word.  
  
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘Because I promise, you will get to watch when I kill them as painfully and slowly as I can. And I can be extremely creative in my killings, dear. It will be my pleasure to wipe your entire family line off the face of this earth should you and Arthur stay active in Dumbledore’s silly club. Let’s face the truth, Prewett, you never belonged in it anyway. The proof to that is staring right into everyone’s face with the presence of your half-breed daughter-in-law sleeping near Hermione instead of your daughter or any other pure-blood relative of yours. If anyone had to die if I got here, best it was the part Veela, right?’   
  
Voldemort stepped back and gazed her directly in her eyes.  
  
‘Come September, you will chuck Dumbledore and his posse out. You and your husband will leave the Order if you’d like your family to survive this war. Think long and hard about it, Molly Weasley-Prewett; watch the coming events and reach a decision before the first of September. I don’t care how you wrap your “change of heart” towards others. I don’t care what silly excuse you tell your children. Just get it done. Remember whom your son is frolicking about with. And if you think he’s safer near Potter and his security detail, just remember whom Dumbledore will be protecting when push comes to shove. Ronald’s best chance for survival is me. You can’t save his friend from his inevitable fate, but you can save your family.’  
  
Then, a flurry of spells struck Molly Weasley. Her body flew up, hovering in midair, while her eyes blinked, turned unseeing as she fell into a deep slumber. Voldemort whisked his wand sideways and zapped it diagonally across the sky. An orange glow engulfed Molly, lifting her farther and farther till she disappeared through the ceiling like a Hogwarts ghost would have. He repeated the diagonal motions two more times before lowering his wand and turning to the silent Hermione – her expression was mildly bemused.  
  
‘Do you honestly think that will work?’ she asked, her eyebrows raised. ‘Mrs. Weasley will never –’  
  
‘At times, you can be so naïve, Hermione,’ he smoothly spoke, gliding to her. ‘You saw her face, her expressions while I was talking. Even without the ability to read her mind, you should know. Tell me, do you really think I was mistaken about all of it?’ He sat down on the bed next to her lying form and placed his hand on her waist, squeezing it gently.  
  
Thoughtfully, Hermione stared ahead. To be honest, she’d got some doubts about Molly Weasley’s loyalties now. There was just so much he’d said and the lack of reaction, of a verbal counter, had unnerved her, too. At times, Mrs. Weasley had even seemed embarrassed, which got Hermione worried the most. Embarrassment was the worst sign because it hinted towards a guilty conscience.  
  
Voldemort’s expression turned triumphant. ‘Indeed, my dear.’  
  
Immediately, Hermione shook her head. ‘She was just scared. It doesn’t mean a thing.’  
  
‘Oh, she was scared all right. But I am afraid your second conclusion is off the mark: It means everything. I just tapped into her greatest fear and showed her a solution to prevent it. She will wake tomorrow, thinking I’ve shown her this in a dream, thinking I somehow invaded her mind.’ He smirked. ‘One of the benefits of being a known Master at Legilimency is that she won’t question my ability to do so. She’ll remember the offer and what I will do to her little girl should she decline me. She’ll –’  
  
‘She’ll remember us? Together?’ Hermione asked, mortified. ‘No – no, you’ve got to Obliviate that.’  
  
‘I don’t have to do anything, little apprentice, remember your place,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s beneficial to me if she recalls, for she will envision it happening to her poor, innocent, little girl instead of you. She’ll be relieved it was just an illusion and that I’d picked you instead of her Ginny. Be prepared for the overcompensation of her guilty feelings. She’s going to smother you with care in the morning. And try not to overindulge yourself in her unhealthy, fatty creations. I don’t much care for plump women.’  
  
Hermione gaped at him, not really believing her ears and slowly becoming angry upon realising she’d not misheard it at all. ‘Don’t tell me what to do or eat,’ she hissed.  
  
‘But you want me to,’ he reminded her teasingly.  
  
She bristled. ‘Not to this extent. It’s none of your business.’  
  
‘Everything about you is my business.’  
  
‘Everything about me is who I am. If you don’t like it, you can just …’ she wanted to say piss off but still had enough sense despite her anger not to voice that out loud and altered it to: ‘move on.’  
  
The knot of the dressing gown suddenly untied and Voldemort slipped his hand underneath the fabric, pushing it aside as he stroked her back. Smoothly, he shifted himself into the bed, tilting her on her back before he lay down on top of her, capturing her underneath him. Hermione was briefly surprised about her pain being gone, but she couldn’t relish on it, for he continued talking – his face mere inches away from hers.  
  
‘I’ve never suggested not to like your lovely, little body, dearest. It’s why I prefer it not to get a coronary from the ignorance of the silly witch thinking comfort food is the solution to every problem. And I most certainly have no plans to … “move on”,’ he said with a suggestive expression, making her feel uncomfortable at the possibility he’d guessed the nature of the original thought she’d had. ‘Nor do I intend to change you into someone you are not. It’s only logical for you to have doubts, questions, and even fear what you desire of me. The Lust Spell eradicated all your inhibitions and moral restraints, giving you a sense of freedom. And what did you do with it, almost immediately? You knelt down before me. I never even had to demand it of you, did I? You figured it out on your own. And now you’re turning red out of embarrassment as I mention it instead of being proud of your progress. Tell me, Hermione, did you feel embarrassed during it or did it come naturally?’  
  
‘I – I –’ she stuttered, lowering her eyes.  
  
His fingers curved around her chin, forcing her to face him. ‘Be honest to yourself, Hermione.’  
  
‘It … it felt right,’ she whispered, feeling her face burn.  
  
‘Yessss,’ he said sibilantly, stroking her face, ‘and your face is only turning red because you wonder what others would say or feel about you if they knew. It’s not because you feel embarrassed about what you did.’  
  
‘I – I suppose so,’ she replied thoughtfully; their eye contact intensified.  
  
‘You feel the world will judge you for it and you’d be correct in that assumption. But it doesn’t matter what others think of you, Hermione. It matters how you perceive yourself. You need to learn to accept yourself even if others disapprove. If you don’t, you’ll end up hurting yourself and that’s unacceptable to me. If you’d accept me as your master fully, your safety would be at the top of my list of priorities. Such an extraordinary witch you could become, Hermione. You’d be magnificent: powerful, intelligent,’ his eyes raked over her body, ‘pretty, and all mine. I’d hand you the world on a silver platter if you’d stop your foolish resistance and joined me. Switch sides, my little one. Join me.’  
  
Hermione felt out of it as she stared into those mesmerising eyes – that red gaze that once it caught you, it didn’t let go. Voldemort let go of her chin and propped his head on his hand, maintaining their eye contact. He didn’t move off her. He merely took a more comfortable position for the both of them while keeping her trapped underneath him. She liked the feeling – liked the feeling of him overpowering her far too much. The idea of switching sides swarm through her brain like tiny, loose cancer cells, waiting to latch on and grow. She wanted to be his. Yet, she had responsibilities, had to keep thinking and consider her options logically and mentally. Hermione knew she had to stay in reality and remember whom she was dealing with. Her eyes flickered over his face.  
  
 _Lord Voldemort. Not a sane idea, Hermione._  
  
Yet somehow, her eyes kept drawing to his lips, those deceivingly invisible-to-the-naked-eye, skin-coloured lips. She recalled all too well what his experienced mouth and tongue had done to her. It’d been really, really nice. She wouldn’t mind …  
  
Hermione only just suppressed an audible moan from escaping her, and she closed her eyes, stopping herself from focusing on his mouth. There was no way she could go another round. She was exhausted.  
  
 _Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort,_  her mind repeated in a mantra.  
  
‘Join me. Right now.’ His quiet voice wrapped around her, repeating the offer more forcefully and real. Too real.  
  
What?! Now? He can’t be serious.  
  
Shocked, her eyes flashed open to be met with his utterly calm and certain expression.  
  
Okay, obviously I have a hearing problem.  
  
The corner of his mouth quirked up. Slowly, he leaned in, halting at minimum distance from her face.  
  
‘Join me, and I’ll take you with me immediately,’ he repeated to her lips, tickling them with his breath before he leaned back again to watch her, his impassive mask firmly in place.  
  
‘I … I …’ she stammered, not knowing what to say to  _that_.  
  
She was floored. Stunned. It was too weird, too bloody ridiculous to be a real offer. Not that she wanted it to be a real offer. Because she didn’t. No, she most certainly didn’t. She was very happy to be on the side of the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, she was. And … and … they wanted her here. Professor Dumbledore had said they needed her here. She couldn’t just go with him. She’d never be able to go to Hogwarts and finish her education if word got out she was with him. There’d be a warrant for her arrest. They’d chuck her in Azkaban. No, she couldn’t go with him. Unacceptable. Her friends were here. They supported her, cared for her, worried about her.  
  
‘Let me guess, Dumbles made up some cockamamie story about you having been my prisoner?’  
  
‘It’s not entirely cockamamie, is it?’ Hermione hissed, recalling how she’d been stuck in that disgusting, pink bedroom for ages. ‘Besides, he had to, seeing you left such conspicuous signs behind.’ She yanked at the chain around her neck, making the pendant dangle in front of his face.  
  
Voldemort snorted. ‘And now, they’re so concerned over your well-being that they made the redhead move to a different room.’  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth. ‘Obviously,’ she said, gesturing up and down his body, ‘they weren’t wrong.’  
  
‘Obviously,’ he acknowledged, amused. ‘However, one does have to wonder: Where is your protection detail?’ And he searched the room theatrically with his eyes.  
  
Briefly, that sharp, irrational pang was back in her chest; she couldn’t deny it had hurt they’d not done more to guard her. She knew she wasn’t in any real danger, but they didn’t know that. And a little nagging voice in the back of her mind kept saying: What if it hadn’t been a story? What if something did happen? Was this all they’d do for her? Make a fuss about Ginny being in her vicinity and not care about her or Fleur’s safety?  
  
However, the Weasleys hadn’t made her leave their home either, despite knowing the danger of  _Him_  being able to Apparate to her side. He could easily go on a murdering rampage now he was here, and they knew that. Mr. Weasley had even defended her honour; calling Lord Voldemort a sick fuck wasn’t something most people would dare to do. No matter if they’d not been in the Order before, they were now. They’d obviously been concerned for her when they were tied to the wardrobe, had they not? She’d not imagined that, had she?  
  
Besides, she reminded herself that Professor Dumbledore knew it wasn’t real and if it had been, he would’ve taken different measures. Yet, it kept bothering her that besides Remus and Harry, everyone seemed to take it all so lightly. Still, this was between her and the Order. It was no business of his. And she’d be damned if she allowed him to manipulate her like that over this. The Weasleys had always made her feel welcome, at home. They wanted her here. They’d made that very clear today by not chucking her out the door.  
  
‘But what do  **you**  want, Hermione?’ Voldemort asked in that peculiar sibilant hiss.  
  
‘Er …?’  _What’s he playing at?_  
  
He slid to the side, placing his weight on the mattress instead of her body. She suddenly felt cold as his body heat stopped warming her. A sense of loss rushed through her when his strength no longer held her down and his powers no longer seeped into her skin, while he calmly propped his head on his hand again and continued watching her …  _studying_  her. She missed being held. She was alone.  
  
His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘Better?’  
  
Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t know where to look or what to do, so she just stared at his chest, missing the vicious glint that travelled through his eyes. She just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole or simply stop turning upside down on her. Lord Voldemort had not, would not, could not be asking her to join him. She was a Mudblood, Harry Potter’s friend. This had to be one of those silly dreams again. Any minute now, that obnoxious badger would appear with a gold teacup in its hand. This time, she’d definitely smash it to pieces deliberately, just to annoy that nagging beast.  
  
Just when she was about to pinch herself to check if she were dreaming, his voice coiled around her body like a snake.  
  
‘Join me.’  
  
Crap. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.  
  
Hermione tilted her head to meet his eyes. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. It came out a lot less certain than she had anticipated, and she didn’t care for that hoarse quality in her voice.  
  
He didn’t respond verbally, merely tilted his head questioningly.  
  
‘I can’t,’ she repeated firmer this time, though a nagging disappointed feeling swarm through her chest.  
  
Silence ensued between them, raising her feelings of discomfort. He wasn’t bound to take this lying down. Just when she was about to move back, out of his hold, he spoke up again.  
  
‘Why not?’   
  
 _Why not? Is he really that daft? It’s quite a list._  
  
‘Harry is my friend,’ she said. That had to be more than enough explanation.  
  
He raised a non-existing eyebrow. ‘I was aware of that.’  
  
‘I won’t betray him,’ she hissed, annoyed with his condescending tone.  
  
‘I’m not asking you to.’  
  
‘Argh!’ She threw her hands in the air in exasperation, but her pupils dilated in fear when he swiftly covered her mouth and moved on top of her again, glaring furiously at her.  
  
‘Shush,’ he hissed. ‘I undid the Dimensional Jinx; they’re all in phase with us again. So, unless you want me to think that you  _do_  want to alert others of my presence and force me to act, I recommend you keep quiet.’ He tightened his hold briefly, then, let go and returned to his previous position.  
  
‘Why don’t you use a Silencing Charm?’  
  
‘Why? Are you incapable of keeping a lower tone of voice?’ he retorted.  
  
‘Of course not,’ she replied, aggravated with his demeaning attitude. ‘I just thought it’d be safer.’  
  
‘Now,’ Voldemort continued smoothly, ‘as I said before, I won’t ask you to hand Potter over to me. I’m very aware such an action would destroy you, Hermione, and destroyed, you’re of no use to me.’  
  
 _Merlin, he just doesn’t get it._  
  
‘Besides, I don’t need you to get to the boy. I’ve got other plans.’  
  
 _He has?! Shit.  
  
Maybe I can get him to let something slip? He loves to talk, after all._  
  
‘What plans?’  
  
His face gained a mocking smirk. ‘You wouldn’t be able to inform another even if I were to tell you and I do not feel so inclined,’ he said, patting her head demeaningly. ‘You’re sworn to secrecy, remember … goody-two-shoes?’  
  
‘Well, then there’s no harm in telling me, Master Villain,’ she mocked back.  
  
He sniggered. ‘Swear your allegiance to me, and I will,’ he taunted.  
  
‘You do remember that I am a disgusting Mudblood?’ Hermione sneered, recalling painfully that apparently Harry’d been right and that fact wasn’t enough to stop him. Because she wanted him to stop making this – this … tempting offer. Because she couldn’t. Nope. Definitely not. No matter how much her heart was protesting her mind at the moment, there was no way she’d switch sides and betray Harry.   
  
Voldemort shrugged, his face set rather peculiar if you asked her, like he’d found her funny. That really pissed her off.  
  
‘You know, born from Muggles, those filthy animals–’  
  
‘I am aware of your …  _unfortunate heritage_ ,’ he interrupted in an abrupt hiss. ‘However, there are always exceptions to the rule.’  
  
‘Excuse me,’ Hermione said sharply.  _This was bound to become beyond irritating, like pull your hair, nails over the blackboard, scratch your eyeballs out, and stick a hot poker up your arse kind of irritating._  
  
‘Yessss,’ he mused to himself, ignoring her annoyance, ‘it’s obvious you’re a powerful witch and an intelligent woman. For you to have such tainted, despicable blood running through your veins, to be born and raised by such unworthy, disgusting creatures,’ –he shook his head, not noticing how Hermione’s face had turned red in anger– ‘it really is an outrage. It must make you sick all the time.’  
  
 _Continue this line of thinking and I’ll show you sick, you half-blood bastard._  
  
‘But Lord Voldemort will find a way to purge you,’ he continued, his eyes shining, ‘to make you feel clean again, unhindered by the disadvantages of your blood or your revolting parents.’  
  
Her closed fist swung through the air before she had a chance to think it over.  
  
SMACK!  
  
It collided hard into the palm of his hand instead of his face. Calmly, Lord Voldemort looked down on her, closing his fingers around her fist.  
  
‘I am no Draco Malfoy, Granger.’  
  
‘It’s why you get a closed fist, you stupid bigot,’ she responded furiously, raising her knee to strike him in another manner.  
  
He was able to block that attempt, too, by rolling back on top of her. However, that cleared the way for Hermione’s other arm. Her punch on his jaw resonated inside his head and would undoubtedly create a visible bruise soon. She pulled her arm back to take another shot, all the while christening him with all sorts of “wonderful” adjectives.  
  
He had enough of her insane mumbo jumbo. His wand flashed, and he watched in clear satisfaction how her head tossed back, how her jaws parted in a silent scream, and how her hand clutched to her head in pain. Swiftly, he yanked her wrists together and curled his long fingers around them. When he was positive he had her trapped fully, he undid the curse, waiting silently for her to regain her composure.  
  
‘You’ve just proved my point, Granger,’ he said, self-satisfied. ‘If you’d been …  _properly_  raised, you’d have gone for your wand instead of using incompetent, useless Muggle tactics.’  
  
‘I chose this …’ –she panted in between words– ‘cause it’d be … far more satisfying … to feel … the impact on you,’ she ended, speaking those last four words fast in order to take another deep breath soon.  
  
‘Another point for my side,’ he said smugly. Moving in closer, he whispered to her lips, ‘If you were fully in tune with your dark magic, you’d feel the impact on your victims. Trust me, it’s a much more satisfying sensation than that split-second of skin-on-skin contact by a punch. And it lasts as long as you’d like.’  
  
‘Get out of my face.’  
  
‘Why, Hermione, wasn’t all that physical violence an invitation?’ he teased.  
  
Her jaw dropped slightly. He just basically spat on her very existence, caused her severe agony by cursing her with Godric knows what, and now, he had the nerve to suggest  _that_. Again? He couldn’t possibly …?   
  
‘I do enjoy some foreplay,’ he continued, wiggling his non-existing eyebrows.  
  
‘Get. Off. Of. Me.’  
  
‘Make me,’ he ordered. A devious glint passed through his eyes as he tightened his grip painfully and pressed down on her legs harder, before adding in a clear challenging, low voice, ‘Mudblood.’  
  
A growl left her lips as she wriggled underneath him, trying futilely to regain her freedom. His consequent condescending sniggering infuriated her even more and caused her to continue trying for a long time before she had to admit her defeat and stopped moving, glaring at his immensely triumphant, smug expression. In the last couple of days, she’d lost control of her dark magic so many times. Why couldn’t that happen now when she actually needed it?  
  
‘Now,’ Voldemort said casually, ‘since you finally see fit to concede to your inferiority,’ –he smirked at her narrowing of eyes– ‘I will, as slow as your insignificant Mudblood brain needs me to,’ –her muscles trembled below him, showing just how vexed she got over his demeaning comments– ‘explain your delicate situation,’ he paused, watching her expectantly.  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth, determined not to take the bait until she actually had a winning shot.  
  
‘No biting repartee? Have you really giving up so soon? I confess myself disappointed. I was severely looking forward to your speech on morals, telling me right from wrong, showing me the errors of my ways.’ He chuckled softly when she scowled. ‘As I was saying, Muggles are nothing but wastes of space,’ he spat, his face showing his utter contempt. ‘Their allegedly magical offspring are generally a disgrace to the Wizarding Community, a pollution it needs to be cleansed off in order for superior blood to roam free and take charge.’  
  
 _Oh, I can definitely agree to making “superior” blood roam free. An idea or two comes to mind._  
  
‘However, you,’ he said, looking down on her meaningfully, while his free hand stroked the side of her face gently, ‘are not a typical Mudblood. You are something altogether different: bright and powerful. An anomaly. The one exception to the rule: like the anti-gravity slope in Shenyang, China, where things roll uphill instead of down.’  
  
‘One exception,’ she interrupted, snorting loudly. ‘Bad example. There is an anti-gravity slope in Italy, too, near Ariccia.’  
  
Briefly, it was silent. Hermione smiled triumphantly, very happy her parents had taken her there on vacation when she was little.  
  
‘Very well,’ he continued, as if he’d not been disturbed, ‘like the Dead Sea being the only sea you can float in endlessly without worrying you’re going–’ Hermione’s victorious smile broadened, stopping him mid-sentence. ‘What?’ he snapped.  
  
She shrugged. ‘It’s not a sea. It’s a hypersaline lake. I thought someone of your presumed intelligence would know the difference,’ she added condescendingly. ‘It’s, after all, a landlocked body of water. Plus, the Dead Sea is not the only hypersaline lake in the world, therefore ruining you one exception example. There is Lake Assal in Djibouti, the Great Salt Lake in Utah, and–’  
  
‘Fine,’ he interrupted snappishly. He began to slowly appreciate Severus Snape’s point about her being an insufferable know-it-all. ‘Among cat species tigers are the only ones who generally like water.’  
  
‘Tell that to Crookshanks,’ Hermione muttered underneath her breath, trying to control her laughter.  
  
‘Your insane pet doesn’t qualify for a falsification of my statement. It’s obviously influenced by his owner.’  
  
‘All Kneazles love to swim,’ she added, giggling.  
  
‘Kneazles are magical creatures; they’re not a race of cats.’  
  
‘If they weren’t somehow related to cats, if they weren’t a cat species, it would be impossible for them to breed naturally with domestic cats,’ she countered. ‘Any more silly examples that falsify how much of an exception to the rule I am?’ She covered her mouth to muffle her outright roar of laughter.  
  
‘Most large bears eat meat. The Panda Bear is built like one, yet–’  
  
‘Are you seriously comparing me to a bear now?’ Hermione asked, exasperated.  
  
‘Well, I could be comparing you to a monkey with your innate, out-of-place responses.’  
  
‘Out-of-place … innate …’ she fumed. ‘Fine, fine. Let’s get back to your ridiculous theory on Muggle-borns and Muggles. If you claim that I am the exception to your “Mudblood” rule, then science dictates you’ve just disproved your entire hypothesis since you only need one exception to toss a theory in the bin,’ she finished, nodding her head as if to say “and that’s the end of that.”  
  
Yet, Voldemort merely smirked gleefully. ‘Exceptio firmat regulam in casibus non exceptis.’  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘It’s an Ancient Rome juridical principle, which means that the statement of a rule’s exception implicitly confirms the rule. You’re going with science when you should be focusing on law. I plan to be the law soon, Granger. It would be smart of you to take the offer of becoming that exception before I tire of you and rescind it.’  
  
He squeezed her wrists warningly before letting go and moving off her.  
  
‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Hermione replied, rubbing her painful, bruised wrists absentmindedly. Aghast with his stupidity in this area, she continued to voice her position. ‘Even if I could get past your horrible bigotry, and I am not saying I can, Harry is my friend. I cannot … I will not join you. I’d be betraying him if I did. How’d you feel if one of your followers joined the Order and told you they weren’t betraying you merely because they hadn’t handed you over to us?’  
  
His face spoke volumes and that rarely happened. Hermione giggled at the sight. Her mind briefly visualised Lucius Malfoy performing her previous suggestion, and then, plummeting to his all too speedy death. She covered her mouth with her hand when her giggle threatened to erupt into outright laughter.  
  
‘And you don’t even care about them at all,’ she added joyously. ‘I care about Harry and how he sees me.’  
  
‘And what about me, Granger?’ he quietly asked. ‘Do you care how I see you?’  
  
Her joy was gone in a flash. A distinct spark of danger filled the air, constricting her windpipe. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She did care, yet she couldn’t bring herself to voice it out loud. Not after their previous discussion in which he clearly showed his contempt for people like her, and then, to have the nerve to ask her if she cared …? This entire conversation was drifting too far into the realm of surrealism to her liking. What to do? What to say?  
  
‘Do you …  _care_  about me?’ Voldemort added smoothly.  
  
To her dismay, his impassive mask was back in place, supplying her with no hints at all as to what may be the right answer on this occasion. She knew the concept of care was something he didn’t value, yet the manner in which he asked her made it seem somehow important.  
  
‘Do you?’ she retorted fast, turning the tables on him.  
  
That made him pause.  
  
‘Why do you ask of others what you can’t return yourself?’  
  
Slowly, his finger drew a single line over her cheek. ‘You feel neglected,’ he stated softly, ‘underappreciated. Unvalued.’  
  
‘No, I–’  
  
‘You are mistaken,’ he continued, staring at the wall like she’d not spoken, resting his hand on her waist. ‘If your well-being meant nothing to me, I’d walk out of that door, go up the stairs, and kill Potter and every other Order Member that stands in my way right now.’  
  
He lowered his eyes, looking at her seriously.  
  
Her mouth turned dry. She’d not expected this – hadn’t seen this coming. This wasn’t working. What should she do? Her thoughts and emotions were no help to her anymore. They were too conflicting, supplying her with mutually exclusive solutions. There were no right answers here, no right choices. Someone would get hurt, no matter what she decided. The first stirrings of panic whirled in her stomach. She was on the verge of losing it when his soft voice called her back to attention.  
  
‘Tell me what you want, Hermione.’  
  
‘I … I don’t understand what you mean,’ she said, confused.  
  
‘What do you want out of life?’  
  
 _Ermmm … world peace?_  
  
He sniggered. ‘Something a bit more attainable,’ he joked.  
  
‘To get out of this conversation unscathed?’  
  
Her pun was met by his snort. ‘Such a Slytherin thought of you,’ he teased.  
  
She shrugged.  _Slytherin, smytherin, anything to stop this subject._  
  
‘Anything?’ Voldemort said hopefully, his expression turning utterly delighted.  
  
Hermione scowled. Hadn’t he had enough for one night? ‘Will you stop reading my mind?’  
  
‘Then stop shouting at me.’  
  
‘I’m not shouting at you. I’m thinking.’  
  
‘Well, you’re thinking too loud. I didn’t even have to try for those thoughts. Has your Occlumency been this appalling during your whole week here?’  
  
‘I haven’t told Professor Dumbledore anything about you if that’s what you’re so concerned about,’ Hermione snarled.  
  
‘Mmm…’ he contemplated, considering her. ‘No, I’m not. I knew you wouldn’t or I wouldn’t have let you go. Besides, the council has already reached the agreement to deem you and the other girl fit to maintain a secret, unlike Malfoy who so far has been an utter failure as I’d expected,’ he sneered, contempt dripping from every inch of his being. ‘Unbelievable. With Dumbledore as a guide you’d think he’d pick up something by mere association.’ He snorted. ‘Still, those morons shouldn’t have let her pass either. She hasn’t tried to stop someone for real. With a mind that disorganised it takes some professional questioning to get anything. Their idea of a test was ridiculously unsuitable for her, mind-bogglingly flawed. It doesn’t tell us a thing about her true ability to keep a secret. Perhaps I should prove it to them?’ he pondered, tapping with his fingers on her waist absentmindedly.  
  
Hermione had the notion he’d stopped talking to her a while ago. Yet, she stayed silent, unmoving, not wanting to risk him recalling she was right here and stop him from letting all these thoughts wander out loud. She’d known about Malfoy since they’d accidentally run into each other once at the Keepers’ Headquarters in London, but she didn’t know the other candidate was a girl. Too bad he hadn’t said a name. She’d liked to know her competition.  
  
A vile glint passed through Lord Voldemort’s eyes as he’d obviously got an idea to solve his problem. Suddenly, Hermione was glad she didn’t know the other candidate’s name since she couldn’t warn her and that pleased look of his foreshadowed nothing but trouble and pain for that poor girl.  
  
‘It seems I’m straying from the subject,’ Voldemort said conversationally, returning his attention to her. ‘We were talking about your wants …’  
  
 _Oh goody, back to my new favourite subject._  
  
He leaned in closer. ‘Your needs …’ He caressed her stomach. ‘Your … desires,’ he ended in a sibilant hiss, pulling her closer.  
  
‘I … I,’ she stuttered, drawing a blank when her heart skipped a beat.  
  
‘Come on, Granger, most people your age have some notion about their wishes, be that the latest racing broomstick or striving for a career in … for instance the field of Healing. Surely, you can think of some things you wish for yourself?’  
  
 _Yeah, I wish Harry was going to be safe; but–_  
  
‘I see. Anything else, preferably not so corny?’  
  
He merely shrugged unapologetically when she glowered at him in response.  
  
‘Too loud, again.’  
  
Hermione sighed. Bringing her hand to her chin, she rubbed her skin absentmindedly while thinking about what he’d said. What did she want? She’d never given it that much thought. She’d been too busy striving to get her O.W.L.s first. Well, she supposed she wanted to graduate Hogwarts with the highest figures possible and at the top of her class. It was a harmless enough desire. So, she mentioned that to him.  
  
‘Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,’ he replied casually. ‘And …?’  
  
‘Er … I want to become a Keeper.’  
  
‘With the excellent guide you’re having, that’s a given,’ he stated smugly.  
  
‘I wish my guide wasn’t so full of himself,’ she retorted rapidly before she could think.  
  
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘It’s not being full of oneself if it’s the truth. Besides, your competition is laughable. I’ll get you there, no worries. Any serious requests that have nothing to do with my character?’  
  
‘Well, I suppose …’ she looked at him contemplatively before continuing, ‘I’d like to know what it is the council is keeping.’  
  
‘Only logical,’ he replied thoughtfully.  
  
‘Preferably before I become a Keeper,’ she added somewhat snidely since the whole secrecy was beginning to grate on her nerves.  
  
‘Smart thinking,’ Voldemort said, his eyes gleaming down on her.   
  
‘Well, I’m not signing anything anymore, until I know what the hell I’m getting into,’ she replied, folding her arms over each other decisively. She’d done that once before – signing that apprenticeship document unknowingly – and look what it had brought her: the Dark Lord in her bed.  _Yay Gods!_  
  
‘Oh, do tell me when you’re going to inform them of that. I’ll have to bring a camera to capture the moment.’ His entire posture radiated with glee. ‘Ortega and Li’s outrage will be priceless.’  
  
‘But I don’t really know what I want to do after Hogwarts,’ she mused, no longer needing his incentive to continue and ignoring the fun he was having at anticipating her future actions towards the council. ‘I haven’t had time to give it much thought. I don’t really know what I’m good at. Harry excels in Defence, so naturally he wants to become an Auror. Moody made a comment about that to me, too.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I do want to do some good for the world, but chasing after dark wizards doesn’t appeal to me.’ She didn’t have to look at his face to imagine his expression about now and continued quickly before he had time to make an ambiguous comment involving “chase the dark wizard”. ‘I do love Arithmancy.’ She sighed. ‘But that’s a really narrow field to specialise in and I am not sure I am good enough.’  
  
‘Arithmancy requires an analytic, logical mindset,’ Voldemort replied carefully. ‘It does suit you. If you’re worried about restricting your future choices too much, it’ll be wise to take Advanced General Arithmancy instead of choosing a speciality.’  
  
‘I’ve been thinking about doing both,’ Hermione said, now watching him with sincere interest.  
  
She’d been unable to discuss this with anyone before. Her parents had no idea what she was talking about. Professor Dumbledore had given her ambiguous statements that basically came down to him saying it were her choice to make. Ron didn’t care about classes or the future. She was certain he’d just pick whatever classes Harry would. And Harry had no knowledge of Arithmancy, nor did anyone else in her immediate vicinity. The only Weasley who’d kept the subject was Percy, and well, that was a name best not to mention around the Burrow anymore, unless you wanted to make Mrs. Weasley cry and cause several others to grit their teeth. Lord Voldemort might be a power-hungry bigot, but she did value his magical knowledge and she’d like to hear his opinion on this matter.  
  
‘Have you seen the N.E.W.T. curriculum of Advanced Specialised Arithmancy?’ he asked.  
  
Hermione nodded. She knew it was a huge workload, but still …  
  
‘You’ve been taking Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Defence, History, and Herbology. Right?’  
  
‘And Care of Magical Creatures,’ Hermione added, nodding yes to the rest.  
  
Voldemort waved that away. ‘Pointless subject,’ he muttered.  
  
 _Of course, he’d consider something with the word “care” in it pointless_ , Hermione thought, amused. Not that she planned to continue her studies in that field anyway. It was the only class she’d already decided to drop for her N.E.W.T.s.  
  
‘If you take General and Specialised Arithmancy, you’ll have to drop either Astronomy, Potions, Defence or Transfiguration. From those four, Defence is the only one not necessary for an Arithmancer, but I doubt you want to drop that class,’ he said, smirking at her.  
  
‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ she replied stiffly.  
  
‘I wouldn’t recommend it either. You need the practise. Exceed Expectations, I hear. Tsk, tsk, tsk …’  
  
Hermione scowled. How did he know? She was about to open her mouth to defend her grade when he patted her on the head.  
  
‘Still, that was before you met me,’ Voldemort said, being his usual smug, arrogant, assured self. ‘We’ll get that grade up to Outstanding before next school year. You’ll be able to teach its new Professor a thing or two about the Dark Arts.’ He chuckled.  
  
 _Ljudmila Volkova? I doubt that very much. She’ll blast me all across the country._  
  
‘Volkova?’ Voldemort inquired sharply. ‘Ljudmila took that job? You don’t say …’ he paused, looking up thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if it will work on a Keeper, considering …’  
  
‘–you’re not supposed to be able to kill one?’ Hermione finished sweetly.  
  
Surprised, his eyes flickered back to her face. ‘Yessss,’ he hissed, unabashed at her knowledge. ‘It’ll be interesting to witness what’s going to supersede: the Dark Arts or the Keeper Charter. Since my curse wasn’t aimed at a Keeper nor is she taking the job as one, it may dodge Article Two. Now you’re definitely keeping Defence in your curriculum. You’ll be taking detailed descriptions on her health, demeanour, and well, everything for me.’  
  
‘I’m not your lackey,’ Hermione said, disturbed by this.  
  
‘No, you’re my apprentice, and as such, you’re required to take any assignment I hand to you.’  
  
‘Only if the assignment is related to enhancing my magical development or holds relevance to my path,’ she countered immediately.  
  
‘Do you  _really_  want me to make that curse relevant to your path?’ Voldemort asked sweetly.  
  
Hermione turned pale.  
  
‘I easily can. It’s a very intricate, dark curse, and your understanding of the Arts is still far from being desired.’  
  
‘I’m trying,’ she objected.  
  
‘Tell that to the garden gnomes,’ he joked, chuckling at his pun.  
  
‘Although I won’t practise the next curse I read about before going to sleep, you know, the one taking up chapter twenty-three,’ Hermione said, folding her arms over each other decisively.  
  
Voldemort’s brow rose. ‘You’re at the Unforgivables already?’  
  
‘Yes, and–’  
  
‘Well, there are plenty of mindless boneheads here for you to practise the Imperius on,’ he said. ‘If I’d known this before, I’d have had you practise your skill by moving Weasley back to his room.’  
  
An expectant, almost mischievous look appeared on his face as he waited for her rebuttal.  
  
Yet, Hermione didn’t feel his comment merited a reply at all. She’d already said she wasn’t performing any Unforgivables, and no amount of pun concerning the intelligence or willpower of any possible targets in her vicinity was going to make her change her mind. If he wanted her to practise an Unforgivable, he’d better be prepared to play victim. After those comments about Muggles and Muggle-borns, she knew just the curse she really wanted to practise on him, and it definitely wasn’t the one on chapter twenty-three. No, twenty-four or twenty-five came to mind.  
  
Lord Voldemort’s face lost that little sign of devious happiness and turned blank in a flash. It made Hermione realise just exactly which two other Unforgivables she’d been thinking about and who’d been most likely been listening to her thoughts.  _Again_.  
  
Oh crap.  
  
She should’ve kept an eye on her Occlumency. Irritated with herself and his prying attitude, she narrowed her eyes at him, thinking deliberately hard.  
  
 _If you don’t like what you hear, stop eavesdropping._  
  
‘How did you do on the Volantius Curse?’ he asked, his tone business-like.  
  
‘I got a toy dog to kill a garden gnome,’ she replied.  
  
His seemingly lipless mouth quirked briefly, the faintest sign of amusement. ‘You got the curse to work before you went into your ridiculous moral panic and lost control?’  
  
‘It worked perfectly fine,’ she said through gritted teeth.  _Eh, I had it climb a tree for crying out loud._  
  
‘Splendid,’ Voldemort said, smiling broadly.  
  
 _Splendid?_  Hermione was utterly confused.  
  
‘It’s not in the book you got since it’s too contemporary, but the Volantius and Imperius were originally designed as a pair to strive at full control of the caster’s environment, be that alive or not. It wasn’t until two centuries later that ignorance parted the curses and placed the Imperius in the Unforgivable collection, causing the Volantius Curse to drift off into the unknown since there were easier ways developed to manipulate one’s environment than this curse. It requires a considerable amount of power and most can’t cast it to completion. However, the Volantius and Imperius Curse are effectively the same curse. They only have different target objectives. Hardly anyone knows this today since the Volantius Curse isn’t even forbidden. Still, if you can cast the one, you won’t have any significant difficulties with the other.’  
  
‘But people can fight off the Imperius,’ Hermione objected. ‘An object can’t fight off the Volantius.’   
  
‘True, but the amount of willpower required to make a lifeless object do your bidding is relatively equal to the amount of resistance an individual can throw at you with the Imperius.’  
  
Hermione frowned.  
  
Witnessing her doubt, Voldemort elaborated. ‘Objects aren’t supposed to move, unlike humans. And most people are more than happy to rescind control.’ He stared at her knowingly, turning her cheeks bright red. ‘You’ll have no problem making them cater to your every whim, Hermione. All those useless, spineless morons out there will never be able to take you.’ He leaned forward till his mouth was next to her ear and his breath brushed her skin, sending delicious tingles through her body. ‘Not like you want to be taken,’ he whispered suggestively, making her close her eyes and shiver reflexively.  
  
Completely distracted, she missed him moving back and taking in her flushed state with sincere satisfaction. So, when he opened his mouth again and words came falling out in a dispassionate, rational tone, it felt like being dosed with cold water and she shook out of it abruptly.  
  
‘Now, since we agreed you’ll be taking Defence this year, you need to drop either Astronomy, Potions or Transfiguration if you want to continue both Specialised and General Arithmancy. I strongly recommend against dropping any one of these three subjects since they are important when you continue your schooling to become a true Arithmancer after Hogwarts.’  
  
‘So you think I should choose between General or Specialised Arithmancy,’ Hermione said thoughtfully. ‘Which Arithmancy class did you pick?’  
  
‘That’s beside the point, Granger.’  
  
She scowled.  
  
‘Both,’ he added, upon noticing she wouldn’t let it go.  
  
Her scowl grew.  
  
‘I didn’t have your incessant need to study, Granger. I took every class without the use of a Time-Turner by simply splitting my attendance in half, and still, had plenty of time for extra-curricular activities.’ He sniggered at the memory of his not so “common” activities, making her scowl rise to gigantic proportions.  
  
‘Don’t look at me like that, Granger. Could you manage to NOT do an assignment a teacher hands out to you?’  
  
‘Why would I not do my homework?’  
  
‘Because the assignment is silly and a complete waste of time? Because you know it already and have better things to do? Because you need to sleep at some point during the day?’ he suggested as examples.  
  
‘But–but you’re supposed to–’ she stuttered.  
  
‘My point exactly. Your insane angst of failure would not allow you to let go enough to not do every stupid assignment those teachers hand out to perfection, so taking all the classes is not an option for you. Now …’ he paused, waiting for the truth of his words to sink in, ‘if you want to aim at a career as an Arithmancer and not completely box yourself into a corner, you should take General Arithmancy.’  
  
‘But won’t that make me less desirable to a college as opposed to those who took Specialised Arithmancy? It’s supposed to be more difficult.’  
  
‘Nonsense. Rubbish propagated by those with insufficient knowledge of the subject. Advanced Specialised Arithmancy isn’t harder than General – it just focuses more deeply on a tiny area of Arithmancy. Where Advanced General Arithmancy takes a broader approach and touches all the fields. Ask any Professor at any magical university in the world what kind of student they prefer getting and I’ll promise you they prefer the one who has the broader knowledge since it’s the university’s job to help you specialise. Teaching Specialised Arithmancy at Hogwarts is a premature, foolish act, mainly cheered upon by snobs not scholars. Not one of the famous Arithmancers throughout history ever took a specialised class in their primary magical education.’  
  
Hermione felt somewhat relieved since this made her decision a lot easier. ‘So, it would be better to take Advanced General Arithmancy with Potions, Transfiguration, and Astronomy,’ she concluded.  
  
‘Yes, and I’d recommend Ancient Runes, Charms, and Divination, too, if you hadn’t been so foolish to drop the last subject.’  
  
Divination. Pfftt… Okay, she could hold in her laughter now. Yes, she most certainly could.  
  
 _And they say intelligence is an important quality to a Keeper._  
  
Dumbledore’s dry comment rushed back to the forefront of her mind and she couldn’t hold it in any longer. A very audible snort left her mouth before she started giggling. The one being giggled at merely waited, his face expressionless. When she was finally done laughing, he continued blankly.  
  
‘We can have a debate on the value of Divination some other time since it’s obviously too late to undo your third year folly.’  
  
‘I’m pretty pleased with my “folly”,’ Hermione said, smiling broadly.  
  
‘Which shows just how much you don’t know,’ Voldemort rebutted coldly. ‘So, you’ve got Advanced General Arithmancy, Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence as definite N.E.W.T. classes. Care of Magical Creatures as a definite no. You just need to decide on whether or not to keep History and Herbology. I think you can easily take the workload, so I recommend keeping them both. The combination of these subjects are perfectly suited for a future in Arithmancy and most other fields should you change your mind later on.’  
  
Despite being somewhat annoyed with his presumptuous attitude, she couldn’t help but agree with his choices. They made sense. Just for the sake of disagreeing, a part of her wanted to keep Care of Magical Creatures now, but she knew nine N.E.W.T. classes was already far above average and would keep her fully occupied next to any and all Keeper assignments she’d get. So, she merely nodded in concurrence.  
  
‘Terrific,’ he said cheerfully, before leaning in closer. ‘Anything else you need me to solve?’  
  
Hermione turned red, gaping at him.  
  
‘No more wishes? Too bad, I enjoyed hearing you think of yourself for a change. It’s such a refreshing approach to your normal self-sacrificing routine.’  
  
‘I am not a martyr.’  
  
‘Whatever you say, dear,’ he said, patting her on the head. ‘Well,’ –he rose from the bed and took a look around before meeting her eyes seriously– ‘my offer still stands. I recommend you consider it seriously in the turbulent days to come.’  
  
 _Turbulent days?_  Fear gripped her heart. What was that supposed to mean? What would happen? Why did he make his offer now? It was incredibly sudden. But …  
  
‘How can I consider it seriously if you don’t respect who I am?’ she retorted.  
  
‘I respect who you are, Hermione. I may not like what you are, but at least I am honest enough to say it to your face. Something your precious Order Members won’t do.’  
  
‘They don’t care that I am a Muggle-born.’  
  
‘Really?’ Voldemort said sarcastically. He waved in Fleur’s direction with his wand, undoing the Sleeping Jinx. ‘Did you plug your ears while I was conversing with Weasley-Prewett?’  
  
‘I am not falling for your attempts at misdirection.’  
  
Voldemort shook his head. ‘You’re too naïve at times, Hermione. Far too naïve. But you’ll see I’m right in September.’  
  
‘No,’ Hermione said, her voice steady, ‘I won’t. Even if Mrs. Weasley would want to in order to protect her family, joining you would rip the very thing she’d try protecting apart.’  
  
‘Wanna bet on it?’ Voldemort asked lightly.  
  
‘No.’  
  
His cold laugh filled the room. Fleur stirred in her bed, causing them to freeze up. When she didn’t wake and nobody else came rushing to the door, wands drawn, Voldemort said, ‘Not that certain after all, little one?’  
  
‘I just don’t believe in betting.’  
  
‘Right,’ he said smugly. ‘I recommend you pay attention to Saint Molly’s behaviour in the future and you’ll see I am quite correct in my assessment of her. Her family might not have been as vocal as the Malfoys about it, but they’ve never married or befriended a Mudblood. Ever. Kind of a huge coincidence if it’s accidental, wouldn’t you say?’  
  
Hermione looked at Lord Voldemort and said coldly, ‘I don’t believe you.’  
  
He shrugged. ‘It’s not a matter of what you believe, dear. It’s the truth, and the truth is often not as pretty as people may want to pretend it is.’  
  
And with those parting words, he spun on the spot and was gone.  
  
xxx  
  
It was an even bigger chaos than normally at the Burrow’s breakfast table. Everyone rushed to and fro, getting ready to go to Diagon Alley. Hermione barely could keep her eyes open. Her head was propped on her hand, and she was yawning between every other bite in her syrup-sprinkled waffle. Every muscle in her body was protesting about having to do anything else but lie down. She was sore beyond belief and hardly able to sit in a chair. She barely had any sleep thanks to a certain nightly visitor, and she wasn’t fond of mornings or morning people anyway.  
  
‘GINNY!’ Mrs. Weasley yelled, making Hermione groan and clutch to her head. ‘Don’t forget your coat! They think it may rain today. Harry, dearest, have another pancake.’ She scooped one on his plate before he could reply.  
  
 _Coffee, more coffee_ , Hermione thought, her hand searching the table for the pot.  _I need to be able to at least think properly._  
  
Ron babbled excitedly to Harry about the jokeshop and about being able to drive there since his father had managed to secure the Ministry’s cars again.   
  
‘Hermione dear, you’ve hardly eaten,’ Mrs. Weasley said, adding extra waffles to her plate. ‘Have some more syrup.’  
  
‘I’m good,’ Hermione said, attempting to stop the growing pile by holding her hand above it. Up close she suddenly noticed how utterly tired Molly Weasley seemed, yet the woman hid it perfectly with her busy, mothering demeanour, even though she uncharacteristically stared out the window every now and then.  
  
‘Okay, sweetie,’ Mrs. Weasley added, stroking through her hair, ‘but if you want something else: pie, bacon and sausages, eggs, anything else, just holler and I’ll make it for you.’  
  
‘Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but waffles and coffee is fine. Thank you.’  
  
Molly sniffed briefly, and then, hugged Hermione to her chest, making her wince. ‘I’m just so glad you’re safe, dear,’ she said, sounding overly emotionally.   
  
‘Oh. Yeah, me too,’ Hermione replied, her voice muffled by Molly’s apron. She tried hard to ignore how Voldemort’s words were coming true one by one. Ron grinned in her direction when she finally broke free from his mother’s stronghold.  
  
‘Ee will miss you,’ Fleur sang, hugging Bill in the doorway. ‘Be careful.’  
  
Some snogging noises followed, and for a second, Hermione saw disgust in Mrs. Weasley’s face. It made her frown briefly. Then, she shook her head. She’d been musing over Voldemort’s insane accusations after he’d left long enough. It was ridiculous. She shouldn’t let his venom cloud her judgement of others. The Weasleys were seen as blood traitors for a reason. He was just trying to stir trouble between them, cause a rift to form among his enemies. She really shouldn’t grant his words a second thought.  
  
‘Bill, you’ll be late for work,’ Molly Weasley called out bossily, not noticing it made Hermione squirm in her chair uncomfortably.  
  
‘Gringotts won’t go anywhere,’ Bill said, laid back as always. ‘Love you.’  
  
‘Love you, too,’ Fleur replied, and then, she sighed as he Apparated away. ‘Oh, ze cars are ’ere.’  
  
Ron jumped immediately out of his seat, stuffing the rest of his breakfast in his mouth quickly, while attempting to put his coat on with his other hand.  
  
‘GINNY!’ Molly yelled.  
  
‘I am here,’ the redhead replied calmly, coming into the kitchen all packed and ready to go.  
  
‘Zip up your coat, dear. It’s cold outside.’  
  
Ginny zipped up her coat, rolling her eyes behind her mother’s back. Hermione quickly finished her coffee and pushed away her half-eaten waffle, watching Harry do the same with his additional pancake. For a second, they grinned at each other, then, got to their feet as well and put on their coats, trailing behind the rest of the crowd going outside.  
  
However, before they could get into one of the cars, the last one pulled over with a squeak in its tires. Everyone looked up in surprise when its door opened and Rufus Scrimgeour stepped out. His tawny hair seemed to have got greyer since the last time his picture appeared in the Daily Prophet only three days ago, and he limped forward, his sharp eyes quickly scanning the redheaded crowd before him.  
  
‘Minister,’ Molly said, surprised. ‘What brings you here?’  
  
Her eyes flickered to her husband, who also got out of the car and sent her an apologetic gesture, showing her he hadn’t had the opportunity to warn her about this impromptu visitor.  
  
‘Sorry to hold you up, but I need a word with Miss Granger – in private.’  
  
Silence fell over the previously busy chattering crowd.  
  
‘With me?’ Hermione asked, confused.  
  
Harry and Ron looked at her with alarm in their eyes.  
  
Scrimgeour nodded curtly to her before he addressed Mrs. Weasley again. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk here that would be suitable for such an event?’ His eyes glanced somewhat demeaning at the house.  
  
‘Well, I suppose you can use the sitting room,’ Molly said doubtfully.  
  
‘Splendid. Follow me, Miss Granger.’ Scrimgeour’s limped inside immediately, certain he’d be obliged.  
  
‘Do you think he found out about the – the …?’ Ron nodded his head to Hermione’s necklace. ‘And you being you know … with  _him_.’  
  
‘I don’t know,’ Hermione whispered back, sharing a glance with Harry and Ron before looking at Arthur Weasley for support and information.  
  
‘I convinced him to talk to you here instead of at the Ministry; go inside and stall for time, don’t say too much, I’ll be right there,’ Arthur whispered to a now even more alarmed Hermione.  
  
‘I’m going with you,’ Harry said immediately.  
  
Arthur smiled. ‘I thought you might say that. I should warn you though, you’re probably the reason Scrimgeour said yes to my suggestion. He’s been lurking for an opportunity to meet the Chosen One and so far Albus has been able to prevent it.’  
  
‘Then, you’re staying here,’ Hermione told Harry bluntly.  
  
‘I’m going to be fine,’ she added when Harry opened his mouth to object. ‘If Professor Dumbledore doesn’t want you near the Minister for Magic, he must have a good reason for doing so.’  
  
She, then, turned on her heels and walked away, not giving Harry the chance to respond. Harry stood there, not sure what to do now. He knew Hermione well enough to know she could stand her ground and wouldn’t be particularly happy if he accommodated the Minister for Magic’s plans for him over her. He could already hear her rant in his mind after the fact. He turned to Arthur Weasley for knowledge, for that little bit extra which could make him help decide on what to do, for that little bit that would reassure him Hermione was going to be fine.  
  
But Arthur’s next words were no reassurance at all.  
  
‘Molly, warn Albus, fast. There’s been a murder at the Ministry and Hermione’s genealogy papers were found on the scene.’  
  
xxx


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Serp for being an amazing beta.

**Chapter 32**  
  
A few rays of sunlight barely peeked through the giant mass of clouds on the horizon. It was as early a morning as ever when Rolanda Xiomara Hooch stretched out her arms and legs a couple of times and tilted her head left and right until there were two short cracks audible. With a flick of her wand, her front door closed behind her and she walked to her favourite broom resting comfortably against the stone wall. It was time for her daily early morning exercise routine.   
  
Caressing the smooth, polished wood briefly, she mounted the broom and pushed. Away she went, not noticing the hooded person hiding behind the rosebushes of her cottage.   
  
When she was nothing but a small dot in the distance, the masked figure strolled to her house and placed a broom identical to the one Madam Hooch had just mounted back against the stone wall. A flick of his wand and a card containing the Dark Mark attached itself to the broom: Madam Hooch’s real broom. The one she’d just flown away on would disintegrate any minute now.  
  
A blood-curling, terrified scream sounded in the distance, and with a soft pop, the Death Eater disapparated.   
  
Mission accomplished.   
  
xxx  
  
Alarmed, Minerva McGonagall ran to the window of her bedroom, adjusting her glasses on the way over. She’d heard something odd, something unnatural. She was sure of it. Yanking her tartan curtains aside and pushing her window open, she leaned over the rim. The Scottish mountains handed her a spectacular view as the storm clouds surrounded its peaks. Lightning flashed, illuminating the area. Her breath stuck in her throat when she saw five – no – six cloaked figures approach her house on the hill. Their attire was too familiar to leave any questions in her mind as to their motives for being here.   
  
Swiftly, she transfigured into her catlike form and jumped from the window to the branch on the nearest oak tree. A few jumps later, she nestled quietly behind thick leaves. She had a fabulous view of her front porch from this birch.   
  
The short, bulky one in the middle pointed with two fingers to his right, and then, two fingers to his left. His head nodded to his companion to the front porch. Minerva knew she didn’t have to worry about those two anymore – her porch was something altogether special. Smiling, she watched as the six Death Eaters split up, each approaching the house from a different angle.   
  
That was just fine by her.   
  
Silently, she dropped from the tree, landing on soft paws. With the stealthy qualities of all cats, she started to follow the two Death Eaters to her utmost right. The second they moved around the corner, McGonagall shifted back, hidden from view due to several thick-leaved bushes. Another lightning bolt scattered through the sky, showing her they were attempting to break into her kitchen window. She waited till thunder roared around them and flashed her wand in two fast, consecutive whips. When nature’s noise ceased, they were on the ground, unmoving.   
  
 **BANG!**  
  
Noticing the unwelcome intruders on its deck, her sturdy wooden porch transfigured into a slick, long ramp. Two frightened yells accompanied their fast travels down the garden path to the inevitable pool of quicksand at the end of the slide. Cast spells of their wands were fruitless as they bounced off the ward that had risen around the death trap. Minerva waited for the two remaining Death Eaters and was not disappointed. Several seconds later, they came running around the corner to their mates’ rescue. She struck the first one down immediately with a well-aimed curse, but the other one rolled to the side and put up quite a fight. When he took cover behind a willow tree, however, his luck was up. Minerva smirked and swooshed her wand at it. The branches came to life and speared the fool from every direction possible.   
  
The fight was officially over in all but five minutes.   
  
Placing her wand at her temple, McGonagall pulled a silvery substance from her mind. Quickly, it shaped into a tabby cat and rushed away. Another clash of thunder and it started to pour. The rain streamed down on the environment relentlessly, while falling around McGonagall in an arc, as if she held onto an invisible umbrella. She tapped her nightgown with her wand twice. Swiftly, it transfigured into more suitable attire, right before she apparated away to check on her colleague.  
  
Arriving at Filius’s house, Minerva’s fears were confirmed. Beams of spells swirled through the air from every direction, exiting and entering through the walls at different locations. Explosions followed suit. Running up the garden path with her wand drawn, she passed several black-robed corpses.   
  
 **CRASH!**  
  
The windows blew. Glass smashed into her silvery shield. With a sideway flick, she diverted the debris to the side and moved along. Clashing into the wall next to the door with her back, she waited, listening intently. She could hear someone scuffle on the inside, close to her position. Raising her wand, she flung herself through the front door.   
  
‘Minerva!’ Flitwick squeaked.  
‘Filius!’ Minerva yelped simultaneously.  
  
They’d each aimed directly at the other and were only just able to withhold their deadly curses.   
  
‘I got all twelve of them,’ Flitwick said, lowering his wand in relaxation.   
  
‘Twelve?’ Minerva asked, looking around and counting the bodies fast. ‘My, I feel completely undervalued now. He only sent six of his goons to my house.’  
  
‘Six?’ Flitwick asked, puzzled. He shrugged. ‘We should warn Albus.’  
  
‘I already sent him a message. We should check on the other teachers, just in case. Doesn’t Pomona live nearby you?’  
  
‘Yes, seven miles down the road,’ Flitwick said, gesturing with his hand to his right.   
  
Minerva held out her hand. ‘Lead the way then.’  
  
Flitwick took her hand and disapparated them. They arrived in front of a house covered in thick, dark-green ivy with purplish flowers and blue berries. It curled and grew rapidly as they watched, beginning to cover the front door which stood slightly ajar. But their eyes drew to something much more sinister. Up in the sky, the Dark Mark roared victoriously.   
  
‘No,’ Minerva mumbled, horrified.   
  
She ran.  
  
‘No, wait!’ Flitwick yelled.   
  
His much shorter legs were unable to keep up with her as Minerva blasted the ivy away from the front door and entered.   
  
‘Pomona! NOOOO!’   
  
Her voice broke in desperation, and Filius knew the sight wouldn’t be pretty. But when he entered the house, too, he was still unprepared and froze in the doorway. On the ground lay the plump, little witch he knew so very well, her limbs spread-eagled. Several of the deep wounds on her body were exposed through her tattered yellow nightdress. It looked like he’d entered a slaughterhouse. Blood, there was blood everywhere and meat dripping from the walls. He didn’t want to consider from which part of her body that had come from, so he averted his gaze to avoid identifying it. Slowly, he stepped towards Minerva, who sat squatted beside the body and caressed Pomona’s normally fly-away hair out of her slashed face caringly. It struck him how lifeless it now seemed, how her grey hair stuck to her blood-soaked face without resistance or vigour, and how it made the cheerful, pink earmuffs she wore askew seem all the more out of place. Minerva closed the glassy, brown eyes of their colleague and friend silently and looked up at him, her beady eyes watering behind her square glasses.   
  
‘This is not happening,’ she whispered. ‘This can’t be. Not Pomona.’  
  
He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘She went down fighting,’ he said gently, pointing to the empty pot in Pomona’s hand.   
  
‘I hope whoever got hit by whatever plant was in there will die a slow and painful death,’ Minerva said through gritted teeth.   
  
‘We need to warn the others,’ Filius said in the quiet voice that people reserve for use around the dead. ‘Septima and Aurora aren’t fighters. They’ll be easy pickings for them. Do you know where they live?’  
  
‘No, but Pomona does,’ Minerva said, rising to her feet quickly and looking around. ‘Remember how she arranged that party for Beery five years ago on his anniversary? She has an address book with all the teachers’ details. It’s a red leather, about this big,’ she held her hands about ten centimetres apart. ‘We have to find it.’  
  
Quickly, they both spread around. Flitwick swooshed his wand around, trying a Summoning Charm to no effect. More Locator Charms and other spells were used, but nothing. They turned the place upside down in a matter of minutes without finding it.   
  
‘Where could it be?’ Filius asked, trying to jump in the air to see on top of a dresser futilely.   
  
Minerva stared at the body. ‘She hid it,’ she whispered. ‘She must have hidden it from them.’  
  
‘Or they found it,’ Flitwick squeaked, his face a sudden match to his ultra-white hair.  
  
Minerva shook her head. ‘We’re missing something.’ It suddenly dawned on her. ‘Earmuffs! She’s wearing earmuffs.’   
  
McGonagall swirled back to Pomona Sprout. Gently, she removed the pink earmuffs before pacing quickly to the windowsill, putting the earmuffs on and grabbing the largest pot in the sill.  
  
‘Cover your ears, Filius!’ she warned in an overly loud voice.   
  
Filius whipped his wand and was surrounded by a Sound-Deafening Charm when Minerva yanked the Mandrake from its pot and pulled the book out of its mouth. Screams echoed through the living room, until Minerva dumped it back in the soil. A stream of earth sprayed from her wand and covered the Mandrake fully. Flitwick had already joined her before she flipped the pages and halted at Aurora Sinistra’s address. Briefly, they looked at it.  
  
Two simultaneous cracks later, they arrived just in a nick of time. McGonagall diverted the already cast Killing Curse with a well-aimed Slicing Hex and Flitwick blasted the Death Eater off his feet.   
  
‘Aurora!’ Minerva said, lowering herself and lifting the witch’s upper body in her arms. ‘Speak, say something.’  
  
‘Impeccable timing,’ the witch breathed out hoarsely. A coughing fit followed suit. She clutched to her chest.  
  
‘Episkey!’ Flitwick cast.  
  
‘Oooh… much better,’ Aurora said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.   
  
‘Got any more wounds?’  
  
She shook her head and looked at them thankfully.  
  
‘Do you have some place to hide?’ Minerva asked. ‘Some place safe?’  
  
‘I’ll go to the Astronomy Post in Australia. It is hosting government run programs. High security levels. They’d be crazy to target me there,’ Sinistra said, scrambling to her feet with McGonagall’s help.   
  
‘Go then,’ Flitwick said. ‘We’ve got to check on Septima.’  
  
‘She’s staying with her son and daughter-in-law this summer,’ Aurora said. Her face turned darker in concern as she added, ‘Her daughter-in-law, Melanie, is a Muggle.’  
  
‘Do you know where they live?’  
  
‘Some Muggle part of Brentford, at the top of a flat … er … Holland Gardens. I don’t know the number.’  
  
‘We’ll find it,’ Minerva said certainly. ‘You go to Australia now.’  
  
‘Be careful,’ Sinistra said softly, right before the two of them disapparated.   
  
xxx  
  
‘Would you say you are close to Mr. Potter, Miss Granger?’ Rufus Scrimgeour asked sternly.  
  
Hermione frowned. ‘If this is about Harry, you should really talk to him,’ she said coolly.   
  
Their conversation had started off on a bad note immediately when Minister Scrimgeour warded the room against others entering and kept on nagging about her relationship with Harry for a whole of fifteen bleeding minutes now. She had no idea why he was here, talking to her. And the demeaning way he was talking to her made her blood boil. Also, whenever Harry’s name popped up, she was reminded painfully about last year’s events when the Ministry had tried to expel Harry from Hogwarts and take his wand from him. If Scrimgeour thought he could get to Harry via her, he was in for a ride. She sure wasn’t going to accommodate people who associated with the likes of Dolores Umbridge.   
  
‘I was just wondering, considering current affairs and your heritage. I remember reading in the Daily Prophet once that you’re a Mu-uggle-born?’  
  
 _Nice save._    
  
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘And that merits a visit of the Minister for Magic, because …?’  
  
‘You’re not denying the statement made by reporter Skeeter about your background?’  
  
 _Sure you don’t want to add unfortunate or disgusting there?_  
  
‘I’d be inclined to deny many statements made by Rita Skeeter, but I think that was one of the rare occasions when she was actually right,’ Hermione replied coldly.   
  
‘So, your parents are Muggles.’  
  
 _One, two, three_  … Hermione smiled broadly. ‘Yes.’  
  
‘I see,’ Scrimgeour muttered to himself, before raising his head and addressing her again. ‘That must worry you, doesn’t it, with you being this close to the Chosen One?’  
  
Okay, counting to ten wasn’t going to cut it. She clearly felt her temper rise, not to mention that the pendant under her shirt had changed in temperature, too. If she desired any more proof that her darker magic was active, she’d probably be mopping up the Minister’s body parts.   
  
 _Happy thoughts, Hermione, happy thoughts. Just ignore the bugger. He’s not worth it._  
  
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ she replied blankly.   
  
‘You’re denying Mr. Potter is the Chosen One?’  
  
 _Scrimgeour’s mutilated, dead body is a wonderful, happy thought though._  
  
‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s right outside,’ she said somewhat snappishly, trying to keep her cool but having a hard time at achieving it. Something inside of her was definitely stirring in hopes of getting out.  
  
‘But you are his friend, are you not?’  
  
‘Yes, which is why–’  
  
‘And as such, your parents should be targets for You-Know-Who,’ Scrimgeour mused.   
  
 _Should? Had he heard something, somehow, somewhere about my affiliation with Voldemort?_  For a moment, concern pushed away her aggravation.  
  
‘We could be of assistance to you. Ministerial protection and all,’ he offered.   
  
‘No thanks,’ Hermione blurted out rapidly.  _If I want to invite Death Eaters over, I’ll go straight to the horse’s mouth, thank you very much._  
  
‘Oh,’ he said; his mouth screwed up in an ugly snarl. ‘I suppose Dumbledore took care of that, too.’  
  
The way the Minister spoke Dumbledore’s name in disgust brought a small smile to Hermione’s face. It was nice to see Scrimgeour unsettled like that. Apparently not much had changed at the Ministry with Fudge’s departure. They still didn’t know how to take the appropriate actions and focus their attention on the real threat out there. Morons, the lot of them.   
  
‘I asked you,’ Scrimgeour repeated with emphasis, ‘if Dumbledore took care of protecting your parents?’  
  
 _Not really._  The image of Lord Voldemort apparating effortlessly into her bedroom came to mind.  _Still, that doesn’t mean I want you incompetent lot near my parents._  
  
‘Yes,’ she merely said, watching Scrimgeour fiddle with the cord of the standing lamp as if she weren’t even there.   
  
‘And I suppose Dumbledore also knows everything about your Muggle parents.’  
  
 _Okay, creepy mental image here to stay._  
  
‘Why so obsessed over my family?’   
  
‘Margoon seemed to be.’  
  
‘Who?’  
  
‘You don’t know Margoon?’  
  
 _Well, are we finally getting to the point, Minister?_  Hermione shrugged. ‘Sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a bell. Should I?’  
  
‘Probably not,’ Scrimgeour said, dropping the cord and pulling a parchment out his pocket. He unrolled it slowly. Looking at it, he stated, ‘Your parents are a Malcolm and Sharon Granger, both from Yorkshire?’  
  
Wondering what this Margoon chap could possibly have to do with her parents and whether the answer might be on that scroll, Hermione rose on tiptoes, stretched out her body and lifted her head to try to see what was on it. Alas, she was unable to read it. Scrimgeour held the damn thing too high for her to peek upon. She quickly returned to a normal posture when Scrimgeour raised his head and eyed her questioningly.   
  
‘Yes,’ Hermione replied tiresomely, ‘Both from Yorkshire …’ she paused as memories of her childhood ran through her mind.   
  
 _Oh, the wonderful joys of Yorkshire._  
  
A mischievous grin sneaked on her face, and she continued humorously, ‘In them days we was glad to have the price of a cup o’ tea. A cup o’ cold tea. Without milk or sugar. Or tea. In a cracked cup, an’ all. Oh, we never had a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.’   
  
Seeing her theatrical display was completely wasted on the befuddled Minister, she giggled. Stupid pure-bloods. Please, be welcomed to the twentieth century and this thing called television. She didn’t even feel the need to explain herself, since not knowing everything Python related was considered a sacrilege in her family.   
  
‘Yes, well … er … tea is nice,’ Scrimgeour commented, sending her another one of his phoney smiles.   
  
 _I’ll hand you a piece of damp cloth to suck on._  
  
‘I’m sure Mrs. Weasley will be more–’ Hermione started, seeing it as a perfect excuse to get him to lower his wards.  
  
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Rufus Scrimgeour interrupted, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘So, Malcolm and Sharon Granger …’ he paused, watching her thoughtfully. ‘You are aware the Ministry keeps records on all those born with magical abilities?’  
  
Frowning briefly, Hermione glanced at the parchment in his hand. Was that what that document was: her record? She crossed her arms in front of her chest and said coldly, ‘Yes, and I am certain you’re aware that those records aren’t allowed to be taken from the Registry in the Department of Mysteries for any other reason than a request by the Wizengamot and by no other person than the Genealogy Wizard, who shall at any and all time keep said document on his person.’   
  
Surprised, Rufus Scrimgeour looked at her. ‘Are you striving for a career in law enforcement, Miss Granger?’  
  
‘No, I plan to spend my future in a useful manner.’  
  
His face contorted at her snark. ‘Any reason you can think of as to why the Genealogy Wizard would have your record on his person?’  
  
Hermione shrugged. Her expression was as blank as she could muster, yet her mind flew over all the possibilities in a hurry.   
  
‘When there was absolutely no reason for him to be busy with your record?’ Scrimgeour continued relentlessly.   
  
‘Why don’t you ask him?’  
  
The Minister for Magic stepped forward, holding out the parchment to her, not replying to her comment as to why he wasn’t asking the Genealogy Wizard himself. As Hermione accepted it and turned it around, he asked, ‘Do you see anything out of the ordinary with this document?’  
  
‘Besides the blood smeared on it?’ Hermione deadpanned.   
  
‘Yes, besides that,’ he snarled, his impatience showing.  
  
She scratched her head. At the top right corner of the document was the Seal of Authenticity, next to a scrabbled signature and the date of her birth. Beneath that was a Ministerial Heading, and then, came her name with a little wand symbol, her birthplace, and time and date of birth followed by that of her parents (no wand symbol) and their personal details. She didn’t see anything wrong with it.   
  
‘Would you say it’s normal for a child of Squibs to be calling herself a Muggle-born?’ Scrimgeour asked suspiciously.  
  
Hermione looked up in wonder. Her parents weren’t Squibs. What was he getting at? ‘Sorry?’  
  
‘Have you been posing as a Muggle-born to get near the Chosen One, to be beyond suspicion?’  
  
‘Are you insane?’ she asked, aghast. ‘I’m not posing as anything. Don’t you have something better to do than nag about Harry and my blood status, like oh say … arrest Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort?’   
  
The Minister winced briefly when she said the name. However, he recovered quickly and snarled, ‘You’re being awfully cavalier about your lies. Mind telling me where you were last night?’  
  
‘What does–’  
  
 **BANG!**  
  
Rufus’s ward shredded apart as the door smashed open and revealed the outline of a furious Albus Dumbledore. Behind him a concerned Arthur and Molly Weasley peeked around his tall figure. A couple of quick steps later, Albus Dumbledore halted in front of the Minister for Magic, his wand still in his hand. Hermione let out a relieved sigh. This was bound to be the end of the silly interrogation.  
  
‘Albus,’ Rufus said coolly. ‘So kind of you to show.’  
  
‘I wish I’d been invited, Rufus,’ Albus retorted equally cold, staring directly into the eyes of the Minister as if he were searching for something in particular. ‘Do you find it normal to ward off chambers of a house – not yours – that you were generously granted access to?’  
  
‘I had something personal to discuss with Miss Granger.’  
  
‘Personal?’   
  
‘Yes, and I did not feel the need to be disturbed.’  
  
‘I had no idea murder investigation was still in your job description, Rufus,’ Dumbledore commented, pocketing his wand with a sigh.  
  
‘Murder?’ asked Hermione, confused.  
  
Gravely, Dumbledore looked at Hermione and nodded his head. ‘Margoon, the Genealogy Wizard, was found murdered at the Ministry last night.’ He turned back to Rufus.   
  
‘As always, you’re impeccably informed, Albus,’ Rufus snarled, clearly irritated.   
  
 _Margoon – the Genealogy Wizard – murdered – blood on her file._  
  
‘And as always, you’re jumping the gun by questioning Hermione. The wards set by the Ministry around the Burrow clearly indicate that she didn’t leave this house at all. Even better, we have multiple witnesses who saw her here during the time Margoon died, which includes me.’  
  
‘Oh well, if  ** _you_**  saw her …’  
  
While the two of them argued, Hermione returned her attention to the bloody parchment in her hand. Her eyes flickered over the names more thoroughly again. It seemed all right, until she reached her grandparents – to be more precise, until she reached her grandparents on her father’s side. She blinked when she saw the names Elias Granger and Ellsinore Airmid Granger-Dagworth-Granger. She had no idea who these people were. Both her grandparents were long dead, but she recalled their names very clearly and these weren’t it.   
  
Frowning, she rolled out the parchment further and checked out their family tree more carefully. It seemed Elias and Ellsinore were distantly related, and they’d been both Squibs since their respective parents had a wand symbol behind their names and they’d not. Hermione recognised the name of Ellsinore’s father, Hector Dagworth-Granger. He’d been the Founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. She recalled reading about him for a History of Magic essay. This was just too weird. Genealogy documents were supposed to be impossible to forge. There was ancient magic involved in their creation.   
  
How … what … why would anyone …?  
  
She suddenly recalled the rather peculiar set face of a certain Dark Lord after she’d mentioned that she was a Mudblood. He’d seemed amused, like he’d found her remark funny. It had pissed her off back then because he was at the heart of all the bigotry and she felt he’d no right to pretend like he didn’t care – like she was somehow silly to bring that up. Yet, now, his whole reaction gained an entirely different meaning. Her eyes narrowed in irritation. Oh, this was so not happening. She opened her mouth to inform the Minister of the problem with her parchment when said Minister started screaming at Dumbledore.   
  
‘Not everything is your business, Albus! You stick your overly-sized, crooked nose where it doesn’t belong, thinking you can get away with everything, just because you won one silly duel a long time ago! Well, Grindelwald is at large again and you may be the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but that doesn’t grant you the right to interfere in ministerial affairs!’  
  
Stomping away, Scrimgeour snatched the parchment from Hermione’s hands. She was still gawking at him for his outburst, as he pushed against her with said parchment. ‘This is long from being over, Miss Granger. We will find out why you lied about your heritage.’  
  
Then, he just stormed away, ordering Arthur to follow him and leaving her standing flabbergasted.   
  
‘Why,’ Molly said, shaking her head. ‘Such rude behaviour. I’m never voting for that man again. Can I get you a cup of tea, Albus, Hermione?’  
  
Hermione shook her head.   
  
‘No thanks, Molly,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Could I have a brief moment alone with Miss Granger?’  
  
Worry flashed through Hermione. He didn’t know Voldemort had been here again, did he? Oh, she’d die of embarrassment if he knew what she’d done. Quickly, she searched her mind for an appropriate song but turned up empty. Sightly panicking, she forced herself to think of something. Every song she thought of, she only knew a line or two. That was a huge no-no when trying to occlude. You didn’t want to need to concentrate. What to do? She had to get something.  
  
‘Of course,’ Molly said, still shaking her head about the Minister’s behaviour as she waved her wand at the door. It reattached itself to its hinges and flew shut next. ‘Harry! You can come down now! The Minister is gone!’  
  
‘Hermione?’ Dumbledore asked tentatively. ‘Are you all right?’  
  
She was out of time. Avoiding his gaze and counting numbers, it was. One, two, three …  
  
‘Yes,’ she replied, scratching her head. ‘Why was he acting like this – shouting at you like that?’  
  
Dumbledore shrugged. ‘Things are not looking good for Rufus lately. There’s been a lot of talk about his failure to gain help from the Aurors abroad. The death of Amelia Bones has also made his critics more vocal and that’s bound to resurface, now that another ministerial employee has been murdered right under the roof of the Ministry. I suppose he came here hoping to get something, so people wouldn’t focus on his failures. Support from Harry would definitely help him, and he probably thought he could get to Harry through you.’  
  
Hermione bit her lip. ‘Professor?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘I didn’t get a chance to tell him, but that parchment …’  
  
Dumbledore watched her thoughtfully as he paused.   
  
‘It was wrong.’ Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …  
  
Her headmaster rubbed his beard. ‘Wrong how?’  
  
‘My father’s parents weren’t Elias Granger and Ellinore Granger-Dagworth-Granger. I’ve never even heard of them, but considering their parents were magical and they weren’t …’  
  
‘It would make your grandparents Squibs,’ Dumbledore concluded.   
  
‘They’re not my grandparents.’  
  
‘Yes, I heard you. Mmm … this is an unexpected development. Dagworth-Granger: That’s a respected pure-blood name.’  
  
‘Well, they’re not my family and I want my record corrected.’  
  
‘I wouldn’t recommend such an action, Hermione.’  
  
‘But, but …’ Twenty-five, ten, ten, ten …  
  
‘Right now, Rufus is just nagging about minor issues that can easily be explained away. Margoon often cleaned up his files, so your file being there at the time of his death isn’t as odd as Rufus tried to make you believe. Furthermore, his accusation of you falsely calling yourself a Muggle-born … well, most Squibs live their lives away from their magical families. We don’t treat them particularly pleasantly most of the time, and they’re often ostracised. It would be pretty logical for your grandparents to have never mentioned the existence of magic to your father, henceforth your inability to know you have magical relatives. None of this will sound suspicious or odd to anyone. However, should you report to Rufus that your records have been falsified, you will give him a huge club to hit you with.’  
  
‘I didn’t make that forgery.’  
  
‘I know that and you know that. And it’s pretty clear who did. Which is why you’re stuck with it. You can’t possibly tell the Minister or anyone else for that matter that Lord Voldemort had your papers forged so you would become more “acceptable” to his followers.’  
  
‘I don’t have to tell the Minister who forged it. Can’t I just say it’s incorrect and have them change the names back?’ she replied stubbornly.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. ‘Think about what you’re saying Hermione. We’re talking about heavily guarded, magical documents that are deemed impossible to forge.’ Dumbledore smiled when she rolled her eyes at the latter. ‘Once they know your records have been tampered with, it will become a huge investigation. Since those are your papers, that investigation will revolve around you, and you’ve been and will be in Voldemort’s care for some time to come. We can’t explain away your whereabouts for a significant period in time.’  
  
A frustrated growl left her lips. ‘So, I just need to be okay with this?’  
  
‘No, I didn’t say that, but you know who you are. Isn’t that the most important thing in the world?’  
  
‘That is such a cop-out platitude thing to say.’  
  
Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. ‘Perhaps … yet, true nevertheless.’ He walked out of the sitting room after that. ‘Molly! Is Alastor still around?’  
  
‘I’m right here,’ Moody’s scruffy voice spoke from the kitchen. ‘Not going anywhere, Albus. I just had to stay out of Rufus’s sight.’  
  
‘I can’t reach Kingsley now, since we don’t want to draw attention to him being in the Order, but I know he plans to come over for lunch. Could you tell him to investigate all high-ranking ministerial employees over Margoon’s murder?’  
  
‘Death Eater?’  
  
‘Definitely. Margoon was a hermit, but not a fool. For someone to get to him and have him … Well, they’d have to have considerable magical skills and the ability to go around the Department of Mysteries unnoticed.’  
  
‘So whoever the murderer is will pose a significant threat to us if he or she is not found and continues to work at the Ministry. Wonderful,’ Moody grumbled. ‘Got anything concrete from Rufus for us to go on? Possible suspects?’  
  
‘No, sorry, and …’ Dumbledore stopped talking when a silvery tabby cat circled his head and stopped next to his ear, whispering its message quickly. His eyes widened in alarm, and with a crack, he disapparated immediately.   
  
xxx  
  
‘Come on, Hermione. We’ve been here for hours already,’ Ron complained, staring at her basket filled with books.  
  
She looked up, distracted. In her hands lay a thick, ancient volume, opened up at a random chapter. ‘Hours,’ she snorted, checking the time. ‘It’s not been twenty minutes yet.’  
  
‘But the joke shop–’  
  
‘It’s important to get your school supplies right, Ron,’ she replied admonishingly.  
  
‘I already have my books and so does Harry.’ Ron gestured to the other impatient person behind him. ‘Come on, we’re waiting for you. Just get your books, and we can get out of here.’  
  
‘I haven’t been in this store for more than a year, Ronald Weasley. And considering the circumstances, it’s unlikely I’ll get a chance to browse the shelves any time soon again.’  
  
‘But Hermione …’  
  
‘Why don’t you two go ahead with Hagrid? I’ll get there later.’  
  
‘We were supposed to stay together. Hagrid has to watch out for all of us,’ Harry replied, pointing over the balustrade on the first floor to the half giant who pretty much blocked the entrance by his mere presence.   
  
‘No,’ Hermione said. ‘I am pretty sure Professor Dumbledore asked Hagrid to keep an eye on  **you**.’  
  
‘Yeah, mate,’ Ron said, shrugging apologetically. ‘Hermione’s always been the responsible one. You’re the one who needs looking after.’  
  
She giggled.  
  
‘Funny, Ron,’ Harry said. ‘But I am sure Professor Dumbledore wants all of us to be safe.’  
  
Hermione and Ron shared an amused glance of understanding.   
  
‘And why would I not be safe?’ she asked. ‘Really, Hagrid may be adequate protection against Death Eaters, but I don’t need to worry about them, do I?’ She pointed to her shirt where her necklace lay hidden.   
  
‘Which is exactly why I don’t want to leave you alone,’ Harry reacted. ‘He can find you anywhere, according to Dumbledore.’  
  
‘So … what does that mean, are you going to follow me around wherever I go from now on, Harry? Because I may need to shower or go to the loo or do other private things.’  
  
‘I – I …’  
  
‘And what if he does show up? I am not the one he’s trying to kill. You are. Do you really want to make him succeed at that because of me?’ She stepped towards Harry and pricked him in the chest repeatedly. ‘Because I promise you, if that happens, Harry James Potter, so help me Godric, I will find a way to haunt your dead body for all eternity.’   
  
‘She’s scary enough to succeed at it,’ Ron muttered under his breath.  
  
‘You’re damn right I am,’ Hermione said out loud, turning Ron’s ears red. ‘I don’t want to feel guilty over your death for the rest of my life, just because you have a hero-complex, Harry. I don’t need saving. And …’ Harry opened his mouth, but he shut it when Hermione raised her hand and said with more emphasis, ‘And I don’t want you or Hagrid anywhere near me if he does show up, Harry.’  
  
‘Eh!’ Ron objected, holding out his hands in a “What about me?” gesture.   
  
‘Look,’ she continued, ignoring Ron’s outburst when she noticed Harry was about to make another objection, ‘this shop is three buildings away from Gringotts. There are Aurors skulking in the shadows everywhere.’   
  
‘Aurors?’ Ron said, confused. He turned his head to look out the window, searching the street for shadow-skulking Aurors. ‘Oh,’ he murmured when he’d found them, a bit put off that he hadn’t noticed this before.  
  
‘Why would anyone, especially him, be stupid enough to show up here, so close to the wizarding bank?’ Hermione asked reasonably. ‘It’ll take mere seconds before the street will be filled with every Auror in the nation. If he plans to target me, it’ll be much easier to do that someplace less conspicuous. He’d be insane to show up here.’  
  
Harry sighed. ‘I suppose … I – I just don’t know, Hermione. Are you sure?’  
  
‘Yes, I am. Just go, and I’ll meet you at the joke shop later. I want to take my time here and you two are positively getting on my nerves, breathing down my neck while I am trying to find a good book.’   
  
She turned back to the shelves as if it was the end of that. Ron nodded with his head to the door, looking at Harry questioningly. Harry, in turn, scratched the back of his head in doubt.   
  
‘Okay, seriously, if you two keep standing there, I’ll hex you myself,’ Hermione added with her nose in a book, while making threatening waves with her wand over her shoulder.   
  
‘Harry,’ Ron added, nodding to the door again.  
  
‘Fine, okay, we’ll leave,’ Harry said, raising his hands in surrender. ‘How long do you think you need?’  
  
Hermione turned her head thoughtfully. ‘An hour?’  
  
‘An hour!’ Ron mouthed, now really desperate to go.  
  
‘We’ll come back in an hour then,’ Harry decided. ‘It’s quite a walk to the joke shop and I don’t like you walking these deserted streets alone. Those Aurors are only interested in protecting the bank after all.’  
  
‘Sure, whatever,’ Hermione muttered, distracted by the text she was reading.   
  
That was the end of it. Ron quickly pulled Harry along with him before he could change his mind. Several minutes later, the door was no longer blocked by Hagrid’s huge form and Hermione let out a relieved sigh.   
  
And no more need to pretend her muscles didn’t ache whenever she had to bend or reach for a book. Fortunately, the more she moved, the more her muscles loosened. Walking was already a lot less painful than when she woke. Now it was just an irritating ache, unless she put real pressure on her muscles with an unusual movement. She was most relieved about getting some peace and quietness though.  
  
Their constant chatting to her as she was trying to read and make an important decision on whether or not to buy a book had been really disturbing her enjoyment. Now, she finally could relax and browse. Inhaling slowly through her nose, Hermione cherished the smell of all the books. She loved being in Flourish and Blotts. It made her feel at peace, happy, and at home. After another quick glance at her completely-unnecessary-since-already-memorised list, she proceeded to check if she indeed had the right Ancient Runes book in her hands. Spellman had written so many of them.   
  
 _“Spellman Syllabary for Advanced Learners version MXIV”, check._  
  
Quickly, she shuffled some books around in her already overflowing basket and was able to get the 796 pages thick volume in there as well. Now, all that was left was Arithmancy. Slowly, she walked back, her eyes falling on several desirable other reading materials on her way over to the Arithmancy section, which was also on the first floor but a few aisles further down the back.   
  
 _Oh my … that can’t possibly be the real deal._  
  
Her eye had landed on:  _“Mephistopheles’s Guide to Wizarding Nature, the Complete Text”_ , and she froze on the spot.   
  
 _Complete, as in **really**  complete? _  
  
Her eyes flickered around. The aisle wasn’t empty. A family with a little boy passed by at the end, an old man was browsing through the top shelves several feet away, and a witch with sparkling purple robes was skipping through a Lockhart book. Yet, nobody was in her immediate vicinity or paying attention to what she was doing. If she blocked the two’s line of sight with her body, they wouldn’t be able to witness her picking up a book from the wizard who’d invented almost all of the last century’s Dark Arts Magic. She would only flip through it and nobody would be the wiser. Curious, she reached out and took it from the shelf.   
  
Checking the aisle one last time and deeming it safe enough, she opened the book. It turned out to be a new edition, re-establishing the full original text without the censorship in the editions printed at the turn of the nineteenth century and beyond.   
  
Raising an eyebrow, Hermione noticed the foreword of the book was written by L.K.G.A. Volkova.   
  
 _L for Ljudmila? Nah, couldn’t be … or could it?_  
  
Entranced, Hermione read some of the paragraphs.   
  
 _Moral indignation and well-meant caution led to further and further censorship of Mephistopheles’s writings. At first, only the most dangerous magical creations were taken out. This could be seen as a sensible precaution, had Mephistopheles not trained many dark wizards and witches in his craft. They, in turn, spread his original text among their followers. A snowball effect took place, until in 1918 the amount of illegal copies of “Guide to Wizarding Nature” confiscated by ministries all over the world outnumbered the official editions greatly.  
  
In 1922, Asterion Whiter, British Minister of Magic (1921-1922), declared that all practical knowledge should be blackened in order to prevent its readers from recreating any of his magical achievements, even those who could be turned to good use. His initiative met with global public approval and many politicians rolled over themselves to show they could be whiter than Whiter. References to Merlin and Le Fay were scratched since it was deemed sacrilege to their heritage to be ranked among the likes of Archimago and Lilith. Later, all words deemed inappropriate were deleted, until the entire text became completely incomprehensible. And still, the original text flourished in the underground of the Wizarding Society as a whole.   
  
A brief revival of the official text occurred during the reign of Gellert Grindelwald who held a bonfire with the censored versions and announced Mephistopheles’s Guide as obligatory literature at all magical schools under his control._  
  
Hermione sniggered; she could just envision the flamboyant wizard’s actions and snarky comments during this event in her mind’s eye. She skimmed through the rest of the text, looking for some clue to determine if this truly was the Volkova she knew.   
  
 _As such is true, I fear that oppression of the text will merely prevent those in need of defending themselves against its dangers from gaining the knowledge and provide those planning to use it to its fullest extent a certain victory. Knowledge is power. And the use of power should never be underestimated. We can only fight that which we understand and know. Those too weak to acknowledge this will be inevitably defeated._  
  
Hermione’s brow rose. Interesting way to put it.   
  
 _Mephistopheles’s thorough understanding of Wizarding Nature gained him a legendary status among those needing his assistance to complete their paths fully._  
  
Abruptly, Hermione forgot all about her search for the true identity of the author of the foreword upon seeing the word “paths”.   
  
Paths, now that was a too familiar word.   
  
Would Mephistopheles have been a Keeper, too? Maybe she could gain some clarity in all this ridiculously mysterious Keeper secrecy from this book? It wasn’t like you would become dark just by reading. She flipped to the index and practically jumped in the air in excitement as her eyes swept over the chapter titles.  
  
 _“Introduction to Wizarding Nature, the Light versus Dark Paradox”, “The Magic Within”, “Choosing a Path, Conscious or Subconscious Decision?”, “Dark or Light: the Dilemma”, “Not Choosing a Path: the Fallacy of Generations Past, Present, and Future, or How Mediocrity Rules the Wizarding World”, “Embracing your Path, the Way to Self-Efficacy”, “Controlled Casting: Fact or Myth?”, “The Dark Arts: Common Misconceptions”, “The Right Guide with the Right Apprentice – Identical or Opposite Characters?”, “Guiding: the Importance of the Magical Nodes”_ , and so it went on and on and on.   
  
Hermione was bursting with joy. It was obvious from the chapter titles that Mephistopheles had been a Keeper and hadn’t felt the need to be all mysterious about his knowledge. Finally, she would get some answers to this “Path Business”.   
  
 _All right._  
  
Making a victorious gesture with her fist and wincing from the move, she turned the book around and checked the price tag on its back. That was the end of any victorious ideas. She nearly had a heart attack right there.   
  
 _Forty-nine Galleons! Was this book printed on gold parchment by any chance? Forty-nine, ridiculous._  
  
Grumbling incoherently about the unfairness of it all, Hermione stared at her already full basket. Her budget – though considerable – wasn’t endless, and she knew she’d already stuffed too many additional volumes in there. She had to see what the total was with the Arithmancy textbooks. Reluctantly, she placed the overly expensive book back on the shelf.   
  
Walking away disappointed, her heart ached with every step she took. Without any pleasure or checking the contents, she added the obligatory Arithmancy volumes to her stack. A flick of her wand gave her the total. Another flick and the total with just the absolutely necessary books arrived in plain view.   
  
It was still far too much.   
  
Slowly, she strolled back to the place where the desired book was located and placed her basket on the ground thoughtfully.  
  
 _Do I really need to have all my schoolbooks this year?_  
  
Considering that, she scratched her neck.  
  
 _Oh crap, I still have to restock my Potions supplies, too. And why did I buy five new robes at Madam Malkin’s? Three would’ve been more than enough._  
  
Groaning, Hermione leaned against the shelves behind her. This was so unfair.   
  
Subconsciously, her hand slid to the pendant, caressing the stone absentmindedly. She needed that book, dammit. Perhaps …?  
  
No!  
  
She wasn’t nicking it. She wasn’t.   
  
But she needed it.  
  
No, no, no.   
  
Letting go of the pendant, she quickly squatted down to lift her basket and get the hell away from temptation when the distinct crack of an Apparition reached her eardrums. The noise came from downstairs. Hermione froze, her basket in hand. Apparition was prohibited in Diagon Alley stores. When caught, you were invited to an all-expenses paid six months slumber party at Azkaban even if you hadn’t stolen anything. Not only that; the stores were sufficiently warded against the action as well. It took a truly accomplished witch or wizard to get around them. Her heart stopped when terrified screams filled the store.   
  
 _Oh Merlin, no, not here, not now._  
  
‘Get out,’ a familiar cold, high-pitched voice ordered quietly. ‘In precisely one minute, I will feel obliged to start killing whoever is still here.’  
  
His sentence magically slithered across the store. Despite the overwhelming noise of panic, it reached every ear in all its indifferent, whispered detachment. The words almost tangibly surrounded those present, striking even more fear in their hearts.   
  
‘Eh! Oww!’ Hermione cried out.   
  
The purple robed witch, who was clearly in a hurry to vacate the area, bumped into her behind, making her smash into the bookcase. The entire stand swayed to and fro, threatening to collapse either on top of her or on the people in the other aisle. Several books tumbled down from the highest shelf. Panicky, she grabbed a hold of the nearest vertical bar when her footing slipped and she fell on her knees. Hermione groaned in pain when a cane got stomped in her back, as the elder man passed her, too, without taking her, the falling books, or the large, swaying stand into consideration for a moment.   
  
If the bookcase fell down on her, she’d be crushed to death. She had to do something – had to make it stop moving. An Immobility Charm!   
  
Quickly pulling her wand, Hermione cast said charm on the stand. It did the trick. Still, it didn’t stop the immense fear she was feeling. Hugging her arms around herself, Hermione frowned.   
  
 _I’m scared. That makes no sense. Why am I …?  
  
Oooh, some kind of Emotion-Altering Curse, most likely a Fright Curse._  
  
Concentrating on the countermeasure, she pushed back against the magic surrounding her. When she gained a sufficient distance from it, her fear vanished like snow before the sun. It seemed like she was the only one who’d considered doing that. Terror was still overly present in the store and people were running around without thought or consideration. Calmly, Hermione rose to her feet, walked to the balustrade at the end of the aisle, and peeked over it.   
  
In the centre of the ground floor, Lord Voldemort stood utterly still. Seemingly ignoring the stampede taking place in the direction of the front door, his bald head was downcast to his clasped hands, which held onto an old-fashioned, gold pocket-watch. His black robes contrasted as always with his extremely white skin, and without the visibility of his eyes, he could’ve been an ancient photograph, a stilled portrait in black-and-white.   
  
Yet, a photograph would never get this kind of a fearful response. The customers in the shop gave him a wide berth, not daring to get too close to the immobile wizard in case he decided to move prematurely. After all, he wasn’t known for his stable personality. But their anxiety made them trample all over each other in the limited space they dared to walk in.   
  
Horrified, Hermione took in the situation. Besides the rush to the only door out of the place, she could see three foolish individuals who had crawled into a foetal position at their respected places in the shop, not moving an inch in frozen terror. And if she could see them, _he_  could, too. However, she’d never make it to the three of them on time. There couldn’t be more than half a minute left.   
  
Suddenly, a crying noise reached her ears. It came from behind her, so she turned her head. A little boy stood all alone in the aisle next to the one she’d just vacated. Hermione recalled seeing him with his parents before. Her head swivelled around. She didn’t spot them in the aisles. She checked the crowd gathering at the top of the narrow revolving staircase. They almost tried to push each other down in their haste. But the boy’s parents were not in sight anywhere. Had they left without him?  
  
Apparently.   
  
Quickly, she paced to the crying child and picked him up. He stopped crying immediately and watched her intrigued as she rushed to the staircase and pushed him into the arms of a nearby big, broad-shouldered male, who seemed to be the least likely to get trampled upon.   
  
‘Help him,’ she ordered, touching the man’s arm and pushing away the part of his fear that was irrational.  
  
He blinked. Comprehension filled his face. Suddenly, he had a role to fulfill, a task at hand. A child needed saving. It raised his courage.   
  
‘Can I help y –?’ he started asking.  
  
‘Go!’ Hermione commanded, eyeing him firmly.  
  
Letting out a relieved sigh, she watched him move down the stairs and out the front door before she rushed back to the balustrade. The boy was safe. Unlike the three individuals who’d found their inner baby. Where were those morons?   
  
Whipping out her wand, her eyes found the brunette “hiding” between two large stands, her arms clutched over her head as if that would stop a well-placed Avada. Did that idiot really think she was safe there? She was five feet away from the door for crying out loud. Why was she not getting out?!  
  
Frustrated, Hermione hung over the railing and yelled, ‘Leave!’  
  
It had absolutely no effect whatsoever. Her voice got drowned in the residual noise.   
  
 _Fine. If they aren’t leaving willingly on their volition, there are always other methods._  
  
Ignoring that it was not that long ago that she’d told Lord Voldemort she wasn’t going to cast any Unforgivables, ever, she focused. He’d said it was exactly the same as the Volantius Curse. He’d better be right. Her jaw set, Hermione raised her wand, narrowing her eyes in concentration.   
  
‘Imperio!’  
  
Her Imperius Curse soared through the air, striking the silly witch dead on. Dropping her arms, the brunette rose – a vacant, goofy expression on her face. Triumphantly, Hermione willed her to move to the door. When she was out, Hermione quickly turned to the man lying behind the counter. She had no idea how much time she had left.   
  
‘Imperio!’  
  
If she’d have taken one second to look at the Dark Lord, she might have noticed that the watch had been replaced by a wand a while ago and that his previous impassive expression had gained a subtle smirk, while his crimson eyes were sparkling in pleasure – all very visibly, because his head was tilted upward.   
  
 _Come on, come on … move faster, you have legs,_  her mind willed when the bloke was moving like a slug.   
  
His pace quickened, and he rushed out as well. Hurriedly, Hermione turned her attention to other fellow underneath the staircase. She had to hang a considerable end over the railing and blast away a man-sized cardboard of Fifi LaFolle to get a clear shot at him. He was the absolute last one to leave the shop. Still hanging over the balustrade, Hermione dropped her head and let out a relieved sigh as the bell chimed and the store was left in complete silence.   
  
 _Made it._  
  
‘Still here, Granger?’   
  
‘Eek!’   
  
Her body jolted in shock. Her feet left the floor as her centre of gravity shifted forward. Panicking, she clutched her fingers around the nearby railing in order not to tumble over. Her wand plummeted down, making high clattering noises as it bounced on the stone floor beneath. Desperately, her legs flailed through the air to try to shift the balance and keep her body on the safe side of the railing. A toe touched the floor again, and she pushed her body up with her arms, causing her to land safely on her knees. With a ragged gasp, Hermione leaned her head against the vertical bars of the balustrade, while her hands clutched to them as if she was still in danger of falling down. Adrenaline pushed through her veins relentlessly, making her heart pound in her throat like crazy and her breaths could hardly keep up with her body’s demands. It took her some time, but slowly, she regained her composure and looked up.   
  
Lord Voldemort tilted his head. ‘Planning to join a circus?’ he teased, summoning her wand with a flick of his wrist.   
  
Hermione scowled and scrambled to her feet, supporting herself on the balustrade because her legs were still somewhat wobbly. Her face contorted briefly as the ending of the emergency pushed her muscle pain back to the forefront of her mind. Her grip on the railing tightened when the shouts outside became more pronounced. Through the huge window, she could see how more and more Aurors apparated into Diagon Alley in a hurry and how obvious wards were being risen around the store. Voldemort, in return, cast something at the walls that made them bellow and deform. The windows blurred and fused together with the stone walls. The door vanished. The only light in the shop was now provided by the oil lamps hanging on the ceiling and walls.  
  
 _Oh crap, I am stuck here … with him._  
  
Hermione glared at the source of her recent problem in what seemed to become an endless list of complications in her life. ‘What are you doing here?’  
  
Raising a nonexistent eyebrow as if the answer to that was obvious, he gestured to the stands. ‘I need something to read.’  
  
Her jaw dropped.  _He needed something to read. Okaaay._  
  
‘That doesn’t make you look particularly intelligent, Granger.’  
  
She snapped her jaws shut and glared at him. ‘Forgot how to use Glamour Charms to enter somewhere inconspicuously?’ she sneered.  
  
‘Now where is the fun in that?’  
  
She groaned.  
  
‘Granger, Granger, Granger, surely you have to appreciate the high entertainment value of just popping in. The look on people’s faces alone is worth it.’ He snickered like a mischievous school boy.   
  
She just stared at him in bemusement.   
  
‘And nothing tastes quite as delicious as the sudden onset of mass terror,’ he added, smirking.  
  
‘Well, congratulations then,’ she replied dryly. ‘Your presence alone seems to be enough to achieve that.’  
  
A casual flip of his wand caused several books to vacate their respective shelves in the bookshop and fly into his hands. One soared right past her head. Hermione just noticed the strange triangular symbol on the cover. Lord Voldemort looked at the stack in his hands and moved his hands in an upward circular direction around them. The books vanished with a tiny crack, and he turned his attention back on her.   
  
 _Oh goody._  
  
‘The world is overflowing with wimps, Hermione Granger. Don’t tell me you expected someone to exhibit …’ he paused, swivelling his head around in a mock search, ‘Potter heroics?’ he taunted, lifting a lid of a dustbin as if he expected Harry to be in there. ‘Speaking of which, where is he? Did you give him the slip? You can’t tell me you came to Diagon Alley all by your lonesome self.’   
  
His tone was still light, but she could tell by the subtle change in pitch and his stance that he no longer was just mocking her. Crap, he had her wand. She’d nothing to defend herself with. Maybe she could toss that heavy Spellman book at his head?   
  
Hermione’s expression turned blank and she crossed her arms in front of her chest defensibly.   
  
Abruptly, he was airborne. Staggering back in surprise, Hermione watched him fly over the railing and land right in front of her. Wide-eyed, she asked, ‘How did you do that?’  
  
But she didn’t get an answer. Lord Voldemort grabbed a hold of her harshly and pulled her against him. ‘Where is Potter?’  
  
Burying her face into his robes to avoid eye contact, she said through gritted teeth, ‘Not here.’  
  
‘That much is obvious,’ he whispered against the top of her head.   
  
He tightened the grip his arm had around her waist before lifting the other and delving his fingers into her hair. Next, her head got pulled back roughly. She had her eyes firmly shut before he could meet them.   
  
‘Oh, is dear Harry that nearby?’ he taunted.   
  
Hermione bit her lip. Again, no song came to mind, so she quickly started counting numbers in preparation for the moment he would force her eyes open to meet his.  
  
‘Look at me, Hermione.’   
  
His soft voice had a quality of its own. The need to comply with the order was overwhelming. Yet, she was capable of resisting the insane urge and shook her head in his grip, already clenching her teeth together in anticipation of the most likely painful curse that would follow.   
  
‘I promise not to peek,’ he breathed against her lips seductively.   
  
‘Liar.’   
  
His chuckle wrapped around her body, erupting gooseflesh on her skin. ‘Now, now, I am the Legilimens here,’ he chided.   
  
‘I thought you weren’t going to use me to get to Harry.’  
  
She felt him shrug. ‘Maybe I changed my mind after your impertinent, blatant refusal last night?’ he suggested quietly.  
  
His quietness was dangerous,  _deadly_ , making her heart stop and her breath hitch in her throat.   
  
 _Shit, shit, shit._  
  
‘Maybe I decided that if you weren’t going to join me, your destruction would be irrelevant to me?’ he continued oh so lightly, moving his mouth along her jaw as he spoke. She felt his lips brush her earlobe. ‘Maybe I will enjoy watching you suffer for your impudence …’ he paused, and then, hissed, ‘Mudblood.’   
  
The venom in his voice made her tremble in his hold. She’d no idea why, but she’d never been this scared in her life. Little drops of perspiration formed on her forehead. She felt clammy all over. Cold sweat began dripping down her spine. And now her heart was racing so fast that it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest in any minute.  
  
‘Would you like me to make you suffer, Hermione?’ he whispered as if in a promise.  
  
Barely noticeably, she shook her head. Not at this moment, no. She was sure it wouldn’t be anything fun that came to his mind now.  
  
‘Then, why do you keep on opposing me, my dear?’   
  
Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, as she tensed up further, not knowing how to respond to  _that_. Hadn’t she already explained this last night?  
  
‘Open your eyes, Hermione,’ he ordered oh so gently.   
  
She clenched them harder together.  
  
A soft almost tiresome sigh left his lips. ‘Do you want me to force you, Hermione? You know I can. Why make this harder on yourself?’   
  
She bit her lip, trying to stop her tears from forming. Her shoulders shook. All the tension from everything that had happened during the last couple of weeks surmounted, and she was unable to stop herself when he released the stronghold he had on her hair, and gently, placed her head against his chest. A sob left her mouth. And another when he caressed the side of her face. She didn’t understand how his hold could shift from feeling threatening to feeling infinitely safe and comforting in a blink of an eye.   
  
But it did.   
  
Her fingers grabbed a hold of his robes and she started crying relentlessly. Unstoppable.   
  
Quietly and unmoving, Lord Voldemort held her. He didn’t speak, didn’t comment, didn’t push her away or curse her. He just waited, waited till she was done.   
  
Hermione sniffed, letting out a last sob as she wiped her face with her hand. She felt empty, like she cried everything out in the last couple of minutes – all her emotions and feelings: gone. She sniffed up her nose again, staring at nothing in particular.   
  
Lord Voldemort took a hold of her shoulders and stepped back slightly, tilting his head at her.   
  
‘Why did you stay, Hermione?’   
  
Confused, she looked at him.   
  
‘Why didn’t you leave the store like everyone else?’  
  
Hermione blinked.  _Well, I didn’t have time after that boy and those three morons and it’s not like you can actually kill me and …_  
  
‘Still lying to yourself?’   
  
Voldemort interrupted her thinking. But his voice wasn’t harsh or cold; it actually sounded soft, kind, gentle and caring. That more than anything else made her stare at him in bafflement. A small, understanding smile slid on his face, and he rubbed her shoulders before stepping aside and waving his wand at her. The Healing Charm soothed her aching muscles completely. Every inch of her body that had felt sore now felt rejuvenated and her tiredness vanished as snow before the sun.   
  
 _Amazing_ , she thought, loosening her shoulders without hurting.   
  
Then, Voldemort cast in the direction of all the wards.   
  
‘You must have noticed the Aurors outside. You must have known how much attention my arrival and that stampede would get. I wouldn’t be surprised if every Auror they could spare is out there right now. Yet … you’re in here with me.’  
  
Hermione bit her lip and looked down, hugging her arms around her body.  
  
‘You missed your one opportunity to get out of this shop without drawing attention to yourself from me, from the Aurors, from the Order and from your friends. One has to wonder: Why, Hermione?’  
  
‘I … I …’ She fell silent, rubbing her hands over her arms for comfort.   
  
Lord Voldemort stepped in front of her again. Carefully, he placed a single digit under her chin and lifted it slowly. She could easily step away or otherwise stop him, but her brown eyes met his in a somewhat confused and fearful anticipation.   
  
‘Was my offer this stressful to you, Hermione? Would you prefer it if I forced your hand, so you could maintain a semblance of pretence for yourself?’ he asked seriously.  
  
Realising what he was thinking, what he was offering, her eyes widened.  _No, no, that’s not it – that couldn’t be it._  
  
‘Is that why you stayed?’  
  
‘No, no, I – I …’ She halted and stepped away from him, right into the bookshelves. Taking a deep breath, Hermione said firmly, ‘No, to all of your questions.’  
  
He merely stared at her, a small smile on his face.   
  
 _Merlin, did he not understand the concept of a denial? Maybe I should fetch him a dictionary? There should be one around here somewhere._  
  
‘I would’ve left if there’d been time. I just forgot to consider it. I wasn’t expecting you to show up here, not this close to the bank with all these Aurors here. I was taken by surprise. I didn’t have time to think. It’s got nothing to do with anything. You’re reading too much into this. Really, I –’ She stopped her ranting when he closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek.   
  
‘Sometimes I forget how very young you still are,’ he said quietly before swirling away from her.   
  
Hermione gawked. What was that supposed to mean? How dare he treat her this condescending? She was not a little child. ‘I’ll be of age in less than two months,’ she hissed to his back.   
  
He snorted, amused. ‘I stand corrected then.’   
  
A sideway flip of his wand and an endless stream of strange looking bats left its tip. The flock charged directly at the wall and just when Hermione thought they’d smash to their deaths, the bats passed the bellowing wall as if it wasn’t there. Loud screams erupted from the street, and Voldemort turned around with a satisfied smirk.   
  
‘I wouldn’t want them to grow complacent with nothing to do. After all, we are paying their salaries. I want my money’s worth.’   
  
‘Yeah, ’cause you pay taxes,’ Hermione mocked.   
  
‘Excellent point. Malfoy’s money’s worth, it is.’ He held out his hand with her wand in it. ‘You’ll need this.’   
  
Hermione’s lip had quirked slightly upward at his casual Malfoy comment, and she walked to him to accept her wand, not realising how he’d easily affected her mood and made her feel more at ease. When her hand took a hold of the smooth wood, his fingertips brushed hers, causing a jolt of magic to spark between them. She pulled her hand and wand away from his touch, but it – whatever it was – had already happened. A strange sensation travelled up her arm to her chest and head, making her gasp when it struck something deep inside of her. She swayed on her feet. Everything blurred and turned darker and brighter for a moment. Then, she felt his hand on her arm, steadying her, and she blinked, focusing on his face whose outline quickly became sharp again in the dizzying environment.   
  
‘Are you all right?’ Voldemort asked, his eyes flashing over her, examining her.  
  
‘I … I suppose,’ Hermione said doubtfully, shaking her head to get rid of the buzz in her mind. Unusual tingles swerved through her body, making her almost feel like she was on some kind of high. It was an odd feeling but not entirely unpleasant. She didn’t know how to qualify it to be honest. ‘What just happened?’  
  
‘My magic jumped to you. It can be rather disconcerting when another’s magic hits your nodes, even if it is somewhat compatible,’ he explained, taking in her flushed state with a calm detachment.  
  
‘Disconcerting, that’s one way of putting it,’ Hermione muttered, disturbed. She pocketed her wand and rubbed her arms, trying to rid it of the titillating sensations. It felt too good to be true. ‘What’d you mean compatible?’  
  
‘Don’t you like the feeling?’ Voldemort asked, his eyes following her movements.   
  
Hermione’s cheeks flushed as red as the ripest tomato. ‘I … I ...’   
  
 _Oh shoot, talk about embarrassing. Now I can’t think of what to say either. Why does this shit always happen to me? He must think I am such a moron._  
  
‘Need me to make it stop?’ he offered quietly.   
  
‘Yes, please,’ she whispered, nodding her head quickly.   
  
He closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek, lifting her head. When he bent down towards her lips, she stuttered, ‘Wh-what …?’  
  
Then, he was kissing her, breathing her in, and her mind turned blank. She followed his lead, allowed his tongue to explore her mouth and just lived in that moment: that heightened exhilarating delicious moment when she suddenly felt on top of the world. His magic swirled through her body; she could feel it, taste it, and sense it in every inch of her being. Such a rush. She didn’t want it to end. She’d changed her mind. She wanted this to last forever. He took a deep breath, summoning his magic. And she felt it leave, swirling upward through her mouth back into him. A disappointed, soft moan escaped her, as his lips left hers and he stepped back.  
  
‘Better?’ he asked with a small upward curl of his lip.  
  
 _No, not particularly,_  she thought, somewhat disgruntled that he’d stopped kissing her and had taken away that wonderful sensation, even though she’d asked him to.   
  
Something flickered in his normally unreadable red gaze, making her regain her composure in a flash.  
  
‘Will you stop listening to my thoughts?’ she snapped, irritated.   
  
‘I’m not using Legilimency on you, Hermione,’ he said, smirking broadly. ‘There is really no need when your expression is this transparent.’  
  
‘Ah! You’re – you’re insufferable!’ she exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air in frustration.   
  
‘It takes one to know one,’ he replied dryly. ‘Get your belongings. It’s time we left.’  
  
‘Oh.’ Quickly, she pulled out her wallet and took one-hundred Galleons from it to pay for her books. It was a little bit more than she needed to pay, but since there was no cashier she supposed it had to do.   
  
‘What are you doing?’ Voldemort asked, eyeing the money in her hand.  
  
‘Paying for my books,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘ ** _I_**  am not a thief,’ she added in a clearly reprimanding tone of voice.   
  
His laughter filled the shop. At first, she was just plain annoyed that he laughed about her commenting on his book-nicking actions. But then, she recalled a certain volume he’d left on a dresser not so long ago and turned bright red.   
  
‘I was only borrowing your book, not stealing it,’ she quickly said.  
  
‘Put your money back, Granger.’  
  
‘No, I am going to leave it on the counter.’  
  
‘If you want to burn your money, be my guest, but–’  
  
‘Burn?’ Hermione interrupted.   
  
‘I am torching this place to the ground.’  
  
She looked around in horror. ‘But, but … those are books,’ she said rather superfluously.  
  
‘Hardly,’ Voldemort said, glancing condescendingly at the Lockhart volume on the floor that the purple robed witch had dropped in her hurry to leave.  
  
‘You can’t burn books. That’s – that’s outrageous. All that knowledge …’ She stopped talking aghast, her arms out wide as if to protect the volumes behind her.  
  
‘Granger, it’s hardly like those are rare “books”. It’s the kind of texts that can be found in any general magical bookshop all over the globe. Let’s take a random trial, shall we?’ He whipped his wand, and a book landed in his hand. ‘ _“My life as a Muggle”_ ,’ he quoted the title mockingly. ‘Such interesting, must know literature, fascinating,’ he sneered, opening the book and reading out loud, ‘Fifteenth edition, seventy-nine prints … Oh yes, what a shame if this goes to waste. There won’t be another copy anywhere on the planet.’   
  
He tossed it over his shoulder and summoned another random book. Hermione groaned when she recognised the textbook from Goshawk. That one was bound to have even more prints.  
  
‘It doesn’t matter if these aren’t rare books. They’re still books,’ she objected feebly.  
  
‘And they’ll be ashes soon,’ Voldemort said, tossing it away. ‘So feel free to burn your money along with them if you so desire. I personally don’t see the point.’   
  
Hermione sighed. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. Uncomfortably, she put her money back in her wallet.   
  
‘Book-Burner,’ she muttered, cursing him under her breath, as she walked to her basket to secure her schoolbooks. Her eyes drew to the diverse titles on the backs of the books on the shelves she passed. They’d all be gone soon. Ashes. What a shame. Such a waste. Maybe she could “save” some?   
  
Quickly, she snatched several more books from the shelves that struck her fancy and dumped them in her basket, too.   
  
 _Mephistopheles’s book!_  
  
Her heart skipped a beat in excitement. Well, she couldn’t let that one go to waste, could she?  
  
‘Granger, are you done yet?’  
  
‘I only need one more book for next school year,’ she replied hastily.   
  
Carefully, she removed some of the books already in her basket, grabbed the Dark Arts book and placed it at the bottom. Quickly, she stuffed her other books on top of it. She so did not need him commenting on her choice in literature.   
  
Oh, and she couldn’t let that book on Charms’ theory lay.   
  
By the time she got back to Voldemort, her pile had reached astronomical heights.   
  
‘Yes, I can see you don’t want to steal anything,’ he commented, amused.   
  
‘This is not stealing. This is saving.’  
  
‘Well, give me those and I will … “save” them to your house. You can’t carry such a mountain around. You need your hands free for what’s to come.’  
  
Hermione gave him the stack and he performed the same spell as he’d done on the books he’d summoned himself on his arrival. Then, he held out his hand to her. Reluctantly, she took it and was surprised when he drew her in his arm.   
  
‘I wasn’t aware this kind of proximity is needed for Side-Along Apparition,’ she jabbed.  
  
‘We’re not apparating.’  
  
‘Why not?’   
  
‘Because that’s not what I came here to do, Hermione.’ He looked down at her seriously. ‘I need to keep these Aurors busy, so my Death Eaters can finish what I told them to do, undisturbed.’ He sniffed arrogantly. ‘Lord knows they need all the help they can get.’   
  
‘But?’  
  
‘Put your arms around my neck and hold on tight.’  
  
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, her voice breaking.   
  
‘Cause a little mayhem here and there,’ he replied, looking down at her deviously. ‘Perhaps … I should visit the Weasley store?’  
  
Hermione turned pale. She’d yet to comply with his order.  
  
‘Now what?’ he snapped abruptly, glaring at his left arm in utter annoyance. ‘Morons. Do I have to do everything myself?’   
  
His wand swooshed above their heads; he swirled it sideways and breathed against its tip. A plume of fire rose from his wand, shifting into an ever growing snake that uncoiled and slithered around the store.   
  
 _Fiendfyre,_  Hermione deduced, following the snake’s moves with her eyes. She had to admit his control over it was astonishing. Fiendfyre was one of the hardest things to cast. Starting it wasn’t the biggest issue, but alighting only that which you needed to – making sure it didn’t torch you, too, that was a whole different Snitch game. And she could tell that his control was absolute by the way it kept its distance from them, by the way she couldn’t even feel the heat, by the way the flames rose in sync, and how the fire halted unnaturally in some areas while expanding rapidly in places it shouldn’t even be able to burn due to lacking oxygen.   
  
Speaking of which… why could they still breathe normally?   
  
She understood that he controlled the fire. But where did he get the additional, clean air from to supply them with? For as far as she could recall, that wasn’t a part of the Fiendfyre curse. It had to be an additional charm placed on top of the curse. She looked back at him, opening her mouth to ask. Yet, he seemed in some kind of a trance-like state. Her mouth shut abruptly.   
  
She didn’t dare disturb him out of fear for what it would do to the fire around them. She could tell he was concentrating by the minute narrowing of his eyelids. His pupils were vertical stripes, seeming almost longer than their normal slit state. His wand wasn’t moving. However, when she focused, she felt his magic in the air around them. It was frighteningly powerful – even more than when he’d moved the dungeons around at Malfoy Manor.   
  
Hermione suddenly realised that she didn’t have problems with keeping herself upright as she’d had then. Frowning, she wondered why that was. Maybe it was due to the elements of the spell being different?   
  
Shaking her head slowly in reply to her own question, she dismissed that answer. Both spells were aimed at the environment. Both spells were considered dark. Both spells required a similar level of concentration. No, it wasn’t the elements.   
  
Maybe he had …  
  
He suddenly swirled them around; his wand made several intricate movements above their heads that she wouldn’t be able to copy if her life depended on it. Dark plumes of smoke gathered in the brightness of the flames, solidifying, turning into … – Hermione blinked, not believing her eyes. Yet, all around her, carbon copies of the man who held her in his arm appeared. She pressed her eyes together and shook her head.   
  
It didn’t make the other Lord Voldemorts disappear.   
  
No, they’d become more pronounced, more real. The only way she could tell the difference was by looking in their eyes, for all she saw there were red, burning flames without the black slit pupil within. They were made of Fiendfyre on the inside! But how did he make the outside seem solid, without it burning into flames as well?  
  
‘This will be interesting,’ the original said, jabbing his wand twice in a diagonal, cross-like figure. ‘Time for them to go outside and visit our guests. Give them a nice big hug …’ He chuckled viciously.   
  
That visual made her shiver. She didn’t have to imagine what would happen to the person who would get caught in the clutches of those Fiendfyre copies. They were bound to burn to their deaths.  
  
His wand flashed like a whip. The copies suddenly moved, feeding on the energy of the flames to go their respective, independent ways. The Fiendfyre had already reached so high around them that she couldn’t see anything anymore but its licking tongues. Crackling noises filled the air, followed by occasional bursts of explosions when something volatile was set alight. Yet, nothing struck them. Nothing came within reach. She could still breathe normally. And despite the heat no longer being held at bay and becoming somewhat overwhelming, it should’ve been much worse – it should’ve been unbearable. They should’ve been grilled to a crisp now.   
  
‘I told you to take a hold of me,’ Voldemort hissed, looking down at her.   
  
She stopped examining the fire and turned her attention to him.   
  
‘Put your arms around my neck and hold tight,’ he ordered. ‘I won’t repeat myself again, Granger.’  
  
‘What is going to happen?’ she asked nervously, circling her arms around his neck.   
  
He smirked down at her silently, making her even more on edge. His hands gripped her sides and he lifted her up till she was at eye level with him. ‘Legs, too,’ he ordered coldly.   
  
Confused, she complied and pulled herself flushed against his body, looking over his shoulder. One of his arms looped around her waist and gripped her tightly. His wandarm, on the other hand, let go of her. She felt his arm sweep like he cracked a whip.   
  
 **BANG!**  
  
The whole store blasted away from them. Hermione let out a terrified shriek when they were airborne next. Afraid to fall, she clutched even tighter to him and buried her head in the nape of his shoulder. She hated heights and flying, and he bloody well knew that.   
  
Shouts reached her ears, and she looked up to see different colour jets charge them. Voldemort evaded them with relative ease by swaying to the side or flicking his wrist and casting a spell. Aurors on brooms attempted to stop them. One was being chased by a Fiendfyre Voldemort, the edge of his broom already leaving a smoking trail behind. It suddenly combusted into flames and the Auror plummeted down with a scream. Horrified, Hermione followed his trip down, but his colleague nosedived after him and caught his arm before he struck the ground.   
  
‘Pity,’ Voldemort commented, taking down another attacker with a well-placed Avada.   
  
Down in Diagon Alley, Hermione noticed, the panic was complete with all the Voldemort copies causing havoc everywhere. Worried, she tried to make out the location of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, but Diagon Alley was quickly disappearing from her view to be replaced by other landmarks. Their flight speed was increasing so quickly that several of their pursuers were turning smaller in her vision.   
  
Abruptly, Voldemort stopped, like he’d hit the brakes. Her body’s momentum wanted to continue forward and she’d a hard time keeping her hold. She turned her head to see why he’d stopped and watched him duel a group of twelve in mid-air. Her head swivelled around. Those pursuers they’d been losing were gaining distance quickly. She looked at the ground, which was so far away she could barely make out what was what. A gong-like sound vibrated around her as an Auror’s curse struck Voldemort’s shield. The duel had turned fiercer. She looked behind her to see there were still nine opponents left now, and they were very good on their brooms, evading his deadly green bolts with acrobatic moves.   
  
Shit, shit, shit.   
  
Those three pursuers were almost within striking reach. She could already see the bloke on the left raise his wand above his head. Shaking slightly, she let go of Voldemort’s neck with one arm and reached for her wand in her pocket. She really didn’t want to repeat her nightmare for real. No, definitely not.   
  
Different colour jets flew past her, coming from behind, and she heard someone scream as he’d undoubtedly been struck by one of Voldemort’s curses. But the Dark Lord seemed too occupied to focus on what came speeding towards them.   
  
Feeling the security of the smooth wood between her fingers, Hermione raised her arm, aimed, and then, hesitated. If she stunned them, they’d plummet to their deaths. They could have a wife, husband, children, a family, someone dear to them. She couldn’t just –   
  
The first one was in striking distance and fired a red jet at them.   
  
‘Propagare!’ Hermione cast, scattering the spell apart. She flashed her wand sideways. ‘Ventus Momentum!’   
  
A powerful windshear struck the flyer, blowing him so far away she’d lost sight of him. A jet of green flashed past her. The second Auror had swerved past her weather anomaly. His arm was extended above his head, and she realised which curse would follow. She couldn’t let it come to completion since there was no defence against it.   
  
‘Expelliarmus!’ Hermione yelled.  
  
Satisfied, she saw a stick of wood fly through the sky and fall down, followed fast by its owner, diving after it on his broom. She focused on her last opponent – a girl by the looks of all that long red hair. Then, her world spun as Voldemort twirled around and flashed his wand at what seemed to be the very last opponent indeed because there was no one left on the other side. A terrified scream left the Auror’s mouth as she got blasted off her broom, plummeting to her death.   
  
Lord Voldemort didn’t waste time to check how it ended. He launched them forward again. It happened so fast that Hermione almost let her wand slip from her fingers. Almost.   
  
Quickly, she looped her wandarm around his neck again, holding her wand tightly in her fist. They were going so fast, it made her terribly uncomfortable. Clouds sped by. The wind was so cold and harsh; it blew straight through her jacket. She was freezing up here. She’d no idea how fast they were going and how high they were up or where they were or where they were going, and she didn’t dare to look at the ground to get some kind of indication.   
  
This was worse than that time she’d sat on that invisible Thestral, and that had been terrifying. This was mortifying.   
  
She shivered, her teeth clattering briefly.   
  
A flash. Hot air flew around her, warming her body.   
  
‘Thanks,’ she whispered gratefully, feeling a lot more comfortable. Though, she still wasn’t looking down, especially not since she was pretty sure they’d just overtaken a Muggle airplane on their left.   
  
‘Expelliarmus,’ Voldemort sneered after a long silence. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with Potter.’  
  
‘Well, it worked,’ she said resentfully. Eh, she’d not been expecting a thank you, but the least he could do was not criticise her assistance. She wasn’t particularly pleased she had to aim at people who’d normally defend her. ‘And,’ she added with emphasis, ‘nobody had to die for it.’  
  
‘Which only means your enemies can attack you again at a later date. I prefer final solutions.’  
  
‘They’re not my enemies,’ she hissed.  
  
‘Keep fooling yourself of that, darling. They would’ve happily watched you fall to your death today.’  
  
‘Well, that’s because they thought I was with you, so AAAH!’  
  
Her scream echoed around them, and she clamped desperately at his body when more than a dozen Dementors swerved around them.   
  
‘Granger. Granger!’ he repeated. ‘Relax.’  
  
Panicking, she didn’t hear him; she was freaking out. There were too many of them. She couldn’t do a Patronus Charm with the same power as Harry. One of them was bound to break through. They’d eat her alive. The pendant burned against her chest; green light burst around her. A Dementor bounced off the shield around Hermione. Suddenly, she felt like she could breathe again and looked up.  
  
‘Stop acting like food,’ Voldemort hissed. ‘They won’t touch you. They can’t. But if you keep sending out all these delicious vibes to them, they will keep trying.’  
  
Another Dementor broke ranks and spurted to Hermione. Voldemort flashed his wand, and it shredded to pieces with an agonising howl. The others maintained an appropriate distance after that.  
  
‘Control your emotions, Hermione.’  
  
Her stomach suddenly rose in her throat. They were descending! Thank Merlin.   
  
She let out a relieved sigh and calmed down, making her less desirable for the Dementors. Then, the cloud deck cleared and she gasped. In the distance, a tiny island lay, showing her the familiar building of the wizarding prison: Azkaban. Its top was blasted off. Several more holes were visible all around the thick stone walls, and she could see people – prisoners – walking outside everywhere. Death Eaters on brooms were circling the island, casting in rapid succession, trying to build some kind of ward that wouldn’t sustain itself.   
  
‘Morons,’ Voldemort hissed, right before his feet hit the rocky ground and he pulled Hermione off him.   
  
Staggering, she caught her balance and looked around. It wasn’t a comforting sight as she found herself quickly surrounded by a small contingency of Death Eaters. Voldemort swooped forward.  
  
‘Where’s Aloysia?’ he barked to the nearest individual she’d never seen before.   
  
Shocked that the Dark Lord addressed him, the unknown Death Eater was already grovelling on the ground and pointing in the direction of the former entrance doors, which hang askew on the only remaining hinge. ‘Inside at the warden’s station, my Lord.’  
  
The Dark Lord paced past three masked Death Eaters holding onto a Nimbus 2001 before he halted at an unmasked male in a prisoner’s outfit. A very familiar, unmasked, burly male. She’d recognise that long, twisted face underneath its dark messy curls anywhere. Hermione gritted her teeth when Voldemort smoothly hissed, ‘Antonin.’  
  
 _Dolohov, ugh. He owes me one cracked chest._  Hermione suddenly felt her wand itch in her hand.  
  
‘Yes, my Lord.’  
  
‘Do you have a wand?’  
  
‘Aloysia’s been able to open the vault, so I have my own back,’ Dolohov replied, showing it to Lord Voldemort.  
  
‘Good. Miss Granger is my …  _guest_. Make sure she remains right here and is not harmed.’  
  
Dolohov glanced in Hermione’s direction with a smirk. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Master.’  
  
‘Very well, the rest of you carry on with whatever you were doing.’  
  
With that last order, the Dark Lord swept away, his robes billowing behind him as he glided through the dislodged doors. It was utterly silent in the tiny group around Hermione. Several hostile glares were sent her way when Dolohov spoke up, ‘Well, are you all deaf? You heard the man. Move along.’  
  
Several of them mounted their broomsticks and flew away, while others continued to scatter over the island. Yet, Hermione focused her attention on the man who’d been ordered to keep her safe. She’d kept her wand in her hand, hidden behind her fingers and arm. Call it a hunch, but somehow, she just didn’t feel very comfortable or protected as she took in how Antonin’s grey eyes glinted viciously and how he rolled his wand between his fingers in anticipation of using it.   
  
‘How’s the chest, Mudblood?’ he sneered.  
  
The hostilities had been formally opened.   
  
xxx


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Serpent In Red for beta'ing this chapter.

**Chapter 33**  
  
A vicious hex split and charged Professors Flitwick and McGonagall upon their arrival at the rooftop of the flat in Brentford. They dove out of the way.   
  
‘Albus! It’s us!’ Filius squeaked in panic, having sought cover behind a huge barbecue on the roof terrace, while Minerva lay flat on her belly behind a recliner.   
  
Dumbledore lowered his wand and spoke over his shoulder, ‘It’s all right, Septima, you and your family can use the Portkey to Hogwarts now.’ He moved to the two others, while in the background, a tiny group took a hold of a ragged jumper and disappeared in a flash. ‘What can you tell me so far, Minerva?’  
  
‘Aurora is fine. She’s gone to Australia. But Pomona is dead.’  
  
Dumbledore’s face contorted. ‘I’ve brought Bathsheba and Poppy to St. Mungo’s. They were severely injured by the time I arrived. Wilhelmina, Gilderoy, Silvanus, Argus and Irma are dead. I’ve no idea where Sybill is. She was the first I checked upon, but she wasn’t in her chambers. Firenze said she went to the Hog’s Head because she was out of her usual stash, but Aberforth hasn’t seen her.’ He shook his head worrisomely. ‘I’ve sent messages to everyone on staff, past and present, but I’ve not heard back from most of them. Horace was the only one who contacted me, and he’s gone into hiding in his old chambers at Hogwarts. He should be safe there. We need to split up, so we can cover more ground quickly.’  
  
‘What about some Auror support?’ Minerva asked, aghast.   
  
Dumbledore shook his head. ‘I already tried, but Rufus sent them all to Diagon Alley. Apparently, Lord Voldemort is turning the place upside down there himself. We’re on our own for the time being.’   
  
‘Isn’t Harry in Diagon Alley with Hagrid today?’ Minerva said, wide-eyed.   
  
Dumbledore nodded. ‘Which is why I didn’t insist more with Rufus. We’ll have to do this ourselves.’  
  
xxx  
  
 _‘How’s the chest, Mudblood?’_  
  
Antonin Dolohov’s words rang through her mind like a bad dream, forcing her to relive her stupidity.   
  
 _‘We’ve got him! In an office off–’  
  
‘Silencio!’ _  
  
That had been her choice of casting: a silly Silencing Charm. The man had yelled, and she’d wanted to stop him from telling the others where they were. So, she’d cast a Silencing Charm out of reflex. Incredibly stupid. If she’d cast a Stunner, he would’ve been silent, too. And more importantly, he would’ve been unable to curse her with Godric-knows-what. Incapacitating her. Hurting her. Attempting to kill her.   
  
As she witnessed that vicious glint in his grey eyes – the same glint he’d had that day – she recalled feeling that purple dash slice through her chest, rupturing everything in its path. The pain had been horrific. She remembered tasting blood in her mouth as she collapsed, remembered how her broken ribs misaligned themselves and froze into a position that made it impossible to breathe; the panic she felt inside as she couldn’t get in any air was insurmountable. She’d known she was dying when the world turned black around her and she lost consciousness. That she was still alive today was a bloody miracle. It was more luck than anything else that, somehow, her magic had kept her body and brain oxygenated when her lungs were unable to.   
  
That man had tried to kill her. She knew it. He knew it. And she was pretty darn sure Voldemort knew it, too. What the hell was he thinking leaving the two of them here alone? Her fingers clutched around her still hidden wand, while Dolohov merely rolled his between his fingers loosely. Arrogant son of a bitch. She’d show him.  
  
‘My chest is perfectly fine, actually,’ she sneered, tilting her head triumphantly. ‘Thanks for asking. I’m touched.’  
  
Dolohov paused; his wand suddenly lay motionless in his hand, and his eyes narrowed at her tone.   
  
‘You dare speak to me like that, Mudblood,’ he hissed. ‘You and your filthy–’  
  
‘Oh yes, I dare,’ she intervened before he could continue talking. ‘According to your boss, I tend to go on and on and on. But look who’s talking, it’s not like he’s any better and–’   
  
The pendant suddenly burned against her chest in a clear warning signal, and quickly, Hermione sidestepped the curse hurtling towards her. She followed its path almost casually with her eyes as it impacted on one of the boulders and deformed its solid shape. For a second, a cold shiver ran down her spine as she realised what that would’ve done to her had it been able to reach her.   
  
However, it wasn’t. Feeling the pendant settle against her chest, she smirked in clear vengeful satisfaction. This was going to be interesting, to say the least.   
  
‘Are you deaf as well as stupid with perhaps an exaggerated death wish?’ she enquired in an overly sweet tone of voice. ‘I do recall your master telling you that I am his guest and was not to be harmed.’  
  
Antonin snorted. ‘I’ve known him since we were both eleven, Mudblood. I don’t expect you to understand the workings of a mind far superior to yours, but he no longer needs to explain the euphemisms he uses to me. I’ve got a good grasp what stands for “guests” and “not harmed”. All it means is: Don’t kill the prisoner. Other than that, anything is fair game …  _guest_ ,’ he mocked, slashing his wand again.  
  
Hermione ducked rapidly, causing another red jet to fly over her head. Dolohov laughed loudly as she jumped back to her feet.   
  
‘Come on then, little girl,’ he mocked, slowly stepping towards her, ‘come on and play. You won’t evade my curses forever. If you stand still for the next one, I promise to go easy on you. It will hurt, but it will be nothing too lasting.’ He whipped his wand.   
  
‘Protego!’ Hermione cast hurriedly.  
  
A gong-like sound echoed around her when Dolohov’s curse impacted on her silvery shield.   
  
Hermione tutted condescendingly. ‘What? Weren’t expecting a real fair game?’ she asked, scratching her head demonstratively with her wand, enjoying the shocked expression on the Death Eater’s face. ‘It must be so nice for you to know  **him**  since you were eleven. Too bad it doesn’t seem to grant you any favours or an actual working brain.’ She held up her index finger as if she’d just got an idea. ‘Tell me, oh smart one, do “guests” always get to keep their wands or am I just a new kind of euphemism?’   
  
Recalling a rather useful curse from the book she’d nearly finished, she slashed her wand sideways, erupting a dark shape from its tip that sliced through the air in front of her. Dolohov Disapparated immediately. The lone tree that stood behind him took the blow, and the dark shape rushed through it. Nothing seemed to have happened for a moment. All that was visible was a horizontal, charcoal-like stripe in the tree’s bark as if it’d been burned. Then, the wind caught hold of the huge volume of branches and leaves as if it were a sail, and with relative ease, the three got blown to the side and collapsed to the ground a few feet away, leaving behind a short, perfectly straight cut trunk covered in ashes.   
  
The noise of the tree crashing drowned out Dolohov’s Apparition. Yet, she’d been expecting him to reappear about now and was ready. With a flick of her wrist, another silvery shield enveloped around her and blocked his Disarmament Charm. Hermione turned around to face him, deliberately plastering the most condescending, smug expression she could muster on her face. Well, a Disarmament Charm wouldn’t cut it. He needed to cast something a lot more volatile before she was going to chance NOT throwing up a defence and see how his curse fared against Voldemort’s pendant. Her previous experiences with it had shown her its reactions were proportional to whatever was aimed at her, and she really wanted Dolohov to hurt.  
  
‘How did you get a wand, Mudblood?’ Dolohov hissed furiously, his wild eyes glaring at the stick in disbelief.  
  
Hermione shrugged unapologetically. ‘How on earth did you get one?’ she countered. ‘I’m surprised you ever got a letter from Hogwarts with such sloppy abilities. Not even capable to penetrate through a Mudblood’s shield,’ she taunted.  
  
Dolohov’s lips were set in a thin line. To Hermione’s satisfaction, she witnessed a small tremble travel through the man’s body as he barely could contain himself from hexing her. It was obvious her having a wand had thrown him slightly off balance and made him have some doubts about cursing her. Still, she figured it was just a tiny, little push he needed and she’d be reaping her reward.   
  
‘You lot are so arrogant,’ she sneered, wiggling her wand demonstratively. ‘Never checking to see if someone might have a spare.’ She snorted. ‘Brilliant thinking. I can see why he spent a whole year making up convoluted plots to get Harry to collect the prophecy instead of simply taking it off the shelf himself. It proba–’   
  
Dolohov’s face contorted in fury at her words, and he made his move. A familiar purple dash sped towards her again, stopping her taunting, mocking words and curving her lips upward.   
  
 _Victory._  
  
Hermione didn’t raise her wand and didn’t move sideways; she just stood there, waiting for the inevitable impact satisfied. The pendant had discriminated between spells thrown at her in the past with regards to its reaction, but right now, she felt its heat unlike she’d ever felt before – a heat that the stone seemed to draw from within her. It was beyond volatile and so dark there were no words to describe it. She had not a semblance of a grasp on what was happening next. Nothing in the Dark Arts books she’d read so far prepared her for the strange, joyous sensation dancing inside of her when a green light burst around her and something dark clashed into Dolohov’s curse.   
  
It was marvellous.   
  
His eyes widened in shock when that dark smoke turned into a snake that left a skull’s mouth, eradicated his curse and smashed into his chest next, not giving him the time to even erect a fragment of a shield or perform a Disapparition. The Death Eater flew through the air – his mouth opened in a silent scream. Antonin smashed into one of the large rocks and crumbled to the ground, unconscious and, from the looks of it, bleeding.   
  
Hermione smirked, looking down at the now extremely handy piece of jewellery with fondness. She felt on top of the world: wonderful, invincible, and so – so … happy? Yes, she was happy; this was something she could get used to. Maybe there were more Death Eaters around she could antagonise into cursing her? That would be fun, especially if it felt even remotely as good as it had done a few moments ago. Too bad the sensation was beginning to fade away now.   
  
She looked around, surprised nobody had come to investigate. There were a few Death Eaters in the air who should’ve had a clear view of what had happened, but it seemed like Dolohov’s “comrades” didn’t care much about his fate. They kept doing whatever it was they were doing up there.   
  
Hermione shrugged. Perhaps they’d seen the Dark Mark and thought it best not to get involved?   
  
Hmm … that would be a shame. Just her luck, sensible Death Eaters, who knew they existed?   
  
A snort left her lips as she slowly approached the still body of Antonin Dolohov, rolling her wand between her fingers. He was lying face down on the ground. It was impossible to determine his condition. Another look around assured her nobody was coming to his rescue and another certain someone was nowhere in sight. Perfect. Her fingers tightened on her wand as she kicked Dolohov’s body over. It was an absolute mess to look at – something dark coiled around him, inflicting what had to be painful wounds if he’d been conscious.   
  
However, to her sincere disappointed, Hermione noted he was still breathing. Evenly and steadily. Not a single stagger or hampered motion of his slashed chest. He’d live. That much was obvious to her, causing her wandhand’s knuckles to turn white with her rising ire. He’d live. Dammit.   
  
Unless …?  
  
Something inside her jumped in joy, cheering her on.   
  
 _Go for it. He has it coming. He tried to kill you. He wouldn’t hesitate. It’s just two little words. You can do it. I guarantee you it will work. From what I saw, you’re powerful enough to produce that curse to its full extent. It’s pronounced Ke-daaah-vra, not Ked-avraaah. It will be magnificent. It will feel magnificent. Finish him off, now!_  
  
As in a trance, Hermione aimed at the body; her mouth opened to speak up–  
  
‘Scheiße.’  
  
The sudden, heartfelt exclamation being called out behind her made her whirl around immediately, her wand raised. Her eyes quickly took in the man scrambling back to his feet after having, apparently, slipped on the wet rocky surface and hurting his knee in the process. He was rubbing it with a sore expression on his face, until he noticed her and alarm flashed over his features.   
  
‘Whoa!’ the man shouted, raising his hands in the air, palms forward. ‘Relax, dear, I am only strolling around the island. I am no threat to you. I don’t even have a wand to scratch my arse with.’  
  
Scrutinising the elderly stranger in a prisoner’s outfit, Hermione flicked her wrist and performed the Disarmament Charm. After all, Dolohov had stated something about wands being returned to their owners. However, it seemed like the man had spoken the truth. No wand came sailing through the air towards her. Odd. Why hadn’t he got his wand back?   
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. There was something familiar about him, but she just couldn’t place her finger on what it was. He had really short, dark-grey hair with a slightly receding hairline. A pair of twinkling brown eyes, which somehow spoke of an intelligence beyond the mediocre, watched her cautiously. He had a straight nose and a well-kept dark-grey goatee on his chin. A tiny moustache completed his look. This prisoner was surprisingly clean, compared to Dolohov and even Sirius Black. And he had to be much older than them, considering the many wrinkles on his face. Clean, big, and muscular; he seemed tremendously in shape, especially for someone his age, she noted, as her eyes flickered over his pumped up body.   
  
Perhaps he’d worked out in his cell?   
  
He wore his striped shirt unbuttoned, and when the wind blew it open, she saw a huge burn mark situated diagonally over his Herculean-like chest all the way up to his beefy neck. And then, she recalled the picture in her History of Magic textbook. Only in it, he’d been much, much younger. Yet, that wound was famous. He’d got it from slaying three dragons that’d attacked his hometown. He’d been a teenager then, fourteen years of age, doing something that was seen as a miracle: divine intervention. He’d saved many lives that day. Lives, he would later in life sacrifice for the greater good of Gellert Grindelwald.  
  
‘Hludowig Herrmann,’ she whispered, ‘Grindelwald’s general.’  
  
Herrmann’s eyes lit up. ‘You recognise me? That’s so flattering.’  
  
‘I’ve seen your picture in “A History of Magic”. It’s required reading at Hogwarts.’  
  
‘Ouch, I’m history. You’ve harshly burst my happy bubble with that “subtle” reminder to my age,’ he said, clutching humorously to his chest as if he were in terrible pain. ‘Why, thank you, Miss Granger.’  
  
Her forehead wrinkled. ‘How come you know who I am?’  
  
‘We did get several newspapers in Nurmengard, and I’ve always liked to stay informed about current affairs, be that local or abroad. It keeps you prepared, wouldn’t you agree?’ Herrmann asked rhetorically, smiling. ‘Although, I don’t believe a word of what that Skeeter woman wrote about you. Reporters,’ he shook his head, ‘they’re always so full of it. You should read the rubbish they wrote about me when I was younger.’  
  
‘I am sure,’ Hermione mumbled.   
  
‘You can lower your wand, Miss Granger. I have no interest in harming you, even if I could, which I doubt, considering that magical aura hanging around you.’  
  
‘Excuse me?’  
  
Hludowig Herrmann smiled. It opened his face and made him incredibly disarming, which was strange considering what a broadly built man he was.   
  
‘Now, now, don’t play ignorant, it doesn’t suit you. I am sure you know what I am talking about. I don’t know what it is that you’re wearing on you, but it’s emitting a very powerful defensive magical signature. I’d be a fool not to notice it.’  
  
‘He missed it,’ Hermione said, gesturing to Dolohov with her wand.  
  
‘Well, I suppose that makes him a fool then,’ Hludowig said, glancing at the body with a mocking smirk on his face.  
  
Hermione’s mouth curved upwards. ‘I suppose it does,’ she said, giggling.   
  
Somewhat more at ease, she glanced one more time at the wizard before she pocketed her wand. Hludowig Herrmann lowered his arms with a relieved sigh. ‘Ah, much better. I can tell I’ve gotten old. My muscles just don’t work as they used to.’ He rubbed his arms as if to relieve some kind of ache.  
  
Disbelievingly, Hermione looked at him. Even through the long-sleeved shirt, she could still see that his biceps were impressive.   
  
‘Yeah, right, I am sure holding up your empty hands caused  **you**  great discomfort,’ she said dryly.   
  
Herrmann laughed. He walked to a nearby large rock shaped like a bench and sat down.   
  
‘Why, thank you for the compliment. But I really am out of shape. Azkaban doesn’t have the same facilities as Nurmengard.’ He nodded to the partly destroyed tower. ‘It’s incredibly primitive, almost medieval in all its inhumanity. I’m surprised your ministry allowed this prison to remain in this state.’  
  
‘Yeah … well …’ Hermione shrugged; her face screwed up as she thought back at her conversation with Scrimgeour in annoyance. She began walking to and fro with short abrupt steps. ‘They’re not the brightest cookies in the jar.’  
  
‘ _Oooh_ , high frustration levels,’ Herrmann commented joyfully. ‘Is that why you’re here, because you disagree with how they run your country?’ he asked, tilting his head slightly.  
  
‘I don’t see how my presence here is any of your business,’ she said, stopping her pacing and eyeing him sharply.  
  
‘It’s not. It’s just that …’ He looked around and shrugged. ‘Well, you don’t really fit in with this crowd. And anomalies always make me curious.’   
  
‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ she muttered and continued her pacing, occasionally glancing at the building in irritation.   
  
 _What the hell is keeping him? Surely, he isn’t planning to stay? I’ve got to get to the joke shop before they know I’m missing. Merlin, I shouldn’t be here._  
  
‘Do you mind,’ Herrmann said, waving his arm in a clear imitation of her pacing. ‘You’re making me dizzy with that nervous walk of yours.’  
  
‘I’m not nervous.’  
  
‘Sure, you’re not,’ he said mockingly. ‘Here,’ he patted on the rock surface beside him, ‘come join me.’  
  
She watched him sceptically, causing him to elicit a tired sigh.  
  
‘I’m not your enemy here, Miss Granger.’   
  
‘Says the man personally responsible for the death of almost every Muggle-born on the continent fifty years ago.’  
  
‘Because they opposed us. Muggle-borns were never the primary target. Hell, we had several Muggle-borns on staff who agreed with us. Mauve was my bestest friend, and she was a Muggle-born. Really, Granger, I’m shocked you don’t know this. The quality of your History of Magic classes can’t be all that if you weren’t told that our war was aimed at Muggles. Gellert and I had nothing against anyone of the wizarding race.’   
  
 _Oh well, if you were **only**  targeting Muggles, I suppose it won’t matter to me then. _  
  
She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. Really, as if one type of bigotry was somehow less bad than another. All forms were hideous in nature, whether it was aimed at gender, skin-colour, sexual preference, religion, blood or whatever other silly thing people invented to oppress and demean another human being. It was all foul and spoke of such ignorance that she’d never been able to comprehend how seemingly intelligent people could believe such nonsense.   
  
But Hludowig didn’t notice her eye roll. His eyes were tracking all the Death Eaters in the air around them demonstratively.   
  
‘It’s not something that can be said about your present company,’ he added, watching her thoughtfully.   
  
Hermione scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably.  _Yeah, I bloody well know that._    
  
She really didn’t need an outsider telling her how much Muggle-borns were “loved” by Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. No matter if he wanted her to join him, she was perfectly aware he despised her kind, Mr. Hypocrite.   
  
‘Have a seat,’ Herrmann said gently, patting the rock next to him again. ‘When in war, you should always take every opportunity you get to relax because you never know when such a fortunate circumstance will arrive again.’  
  
 _When in war … Am I at war now?_  
  
Tilting her head back, she exhaled slowly. Oh what the hell, she was tired and aching all over from straining her muscles too much; she’d been clutching to Voldemort far too hard during their flight over Britain. Former General Herrmann had a point, and it wasn’t like he could actually hurt her. Lord Voldemort’s pendant had proven excellent protection against Dolohov who’d had a wand.   
  
Still, caution made her walk to Herrmann’s right side instead of the left where he’d patted. Her wand was in her right-hand pocket, and she wasn’t planning to put it within his grasp that easily. No matter how nice General Herrmann seemed, she recalled what an excellent strategist and warrior he’d been. This way her body would be blocking his line of sight to her wand. He might outmatch her physically, but he’d definitely not be able to overpower her before she had a chance to pull her wand. Then, it wouldn’t matter how many hours he’d spent pumping up his muscles, she’d curse him into oblivion.  
  
For a while, they sat there in silence, watching the waves strike the shore violently.  
  
‘So …’ Herrmann said with a curious lilt in his voice, ‘why are you here?’  
  
‘Seaside vacation trip,’ Hermione deadpanned.  _Nosy bugger._  
  
He roared with laughter and slapped her back in joy. ‘I like you, Granger. You’ve got spunk.’ He leaned forward and gestured to her wand’s pocket, causing her to feel even more relieved about choosing to sit on his right. ‘And … a strategic thinker, I approve.’   
  
He sounded impressed as he turned sideways towards her, placing his right leg crossed on the “bench”, his ankle resting on his knee. He seemed like he was lounging, utterly comfortable and relaxed while being interested in his company.   
  
‘I’m not,’ Hermione responded.  
  
‘Not what?’   
  
‘Not much of a strategic thinker. Not putting my wand in range of your grasp hardly qualifies as strategic thinking. That’s just self-preservation.’  
  
‘Eh, it’s a strategy: a move to prevent an action,’ Herrmann objected.  
  
‘One move to prevent one obvious action,’ Hermione corrected. ‘Strategic thinking would require one to be able to predict the moves that follow and counter that.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s why I suck at chess. I can’t really see the whole board without being overwhelmed by all the choices, and then, I just make a move because I get fed up with it and lose.’  
  
‘Mmm … that’s human nature,’ Herrmann said thoughtfully, stroking his goatee. ‘It’s not within us to want to wait. Waiting plays havoc on our nerves, it’s the reason why impatience often is the source of defeat. And trying to oversee the whole board is like trying to see the forest through all the trees: impossible and unnecessary. People are remarkably predictable. You don’t have to oversee all the actors – you need to look at the pivotal pieces. Their moves will determine the outcome of everything.’   
  
‘But how do you determine what the pivotal pieces are in your game?’   
  
‘By understanding your opponent.’  
  
‘And if there’s more than one?’  
  
‘Disregard the mass and see the individuals.’  
  
‘Like looking at all the trees again?’ she said, amused.  
  
He snorted. ‘With individuals in this case, I meant all those who aren’t followers: Identify the leaders and dissidents, and you’ve won half the battle.’  
  
‘Mmm …’  
  
‘It’s basic group interaction theory. I’ll grant you, it takes some practice to see it at a moment’s notice if it doesn’t come naturally to you to spot it. But it can be learnt.’  
  
Hermione sighed, stretching out her aching limbs again. ‘So … what am I then: dissident or leader, Mr. Strategist?’   
  
Surprised, Herrmann’s eyes flashed to her. Hermione folded her arms over each other and lifted her chin, daring him to respond to her assessment.  
  
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Herrmann said, resigning that she’d seen through his motives for talking to her.  
  
‘Never knew you were a diplomat, too.’  
  
‘Eh, I’m not lying. I really am unsure of your status …’ he paused, scrutinising her. ‘However, it also makes you without a doubt the most interesting person on this island to talk to. You have no idea how incredibly boring everyone else is.’  
  
‘I can imagine,’ she replied darkly, causing him to chuckle.  
  
For a while they sat there in silence again, and Hermione started staring at Dolohov’s mutilated body uncomfortably. She wasn’t so much uneasy about having tricked him into cursing her because she still rejoiced about that, but what had happened after that unnerved her. What had been wrong with her? She’d been on the verge of casting the most illegal curse of all if it hadn’t been for the timely interruption of Hludowig Herrmann, and in retrospect, she had some serious doubts whether she’d been in complete control of herself. She’d felt vengeful before but not like this. It was like her wrath had grown to exponential levels, levels beyond slapping Malfoys or jinxing traitorous Edgecombes. She’d never wanted to murder a human being before. Never.  
  
 _Dolores Jane Umbridge_ , her mind jeered.   
  
Like she said, she’d never wanted to murder a  ** _human being_**  before.  
  
 _One-null for you_ , her mind sniggered.  _You only tried to murder a toad in a pink dress.  
  
Exactly; vicious, false, pink-dressed toads don’t count,_ she mentally countered.  _Stupid Dumbledore for saving that bitch, he should’ve let her die a thousand deaths. She deserved nothing less after what she did to Harry and the others. Now that would be a true joyous occasion: watching that bitch suffer. I’d buy tickets and borrow Colin’s camera. Maybe make a Pensieve memory of it. Such a happy memory would be entitled to eternal storage._  
  
Too bad “sweet” Dolores wasn’t here. Someone else, however, was. But why?  
  
‘How come you’re here in Azkaban?’  
  
‘Ah, well …’ Herrmann shuffled on his bottom, seeming almost embarrassed. ‘I, er … I sort of forgot to escape when Nurmengard fell, so the Aurors brought me here.’  
  
‘You forgot?’ Hermione’s eyebrows rose nearly into her hairline.   
  
‘I was preoccupied with something,’ Herrmann said rather briskly, ‘or rather someone.’  
  
‘Preoccupied, okaaay,’ She snorted. The great warrior forgot to escape when he could.   
  
‘You wouldn’t understand.’  
  
Suddenly, the ground shook. A bright white flash blinded them, forcing them to close their eyes. Hermione’s hand flashed to her pocket, yanking her wand out, while her other hand steadied her by holding onto the rock she sat on, grounding her. Even though she couldn’t see or aim at anything, it still felt comforting to hold her wand, to have it ready when needed. A wave of magic engulfed her, a wave of powerful, familiar magic. She let out a relieved sigh upon knowing who was responsible and opened her eyes carefully. They drew immediately to the source of it all: At the top of Azkaban’s destroyed tower stood Lord Voldemort – his wand swooshed above his head as diverse colour jets sprayed from it, connecting to something that sprang from several points on the ground at the edges of the island.   
  
Mesmerised, Hermione rose to her feet. There was something about watching him perform complex magic so effortlessly that she couldn’t deny – something extremely erotic. The way he delved into it and surrendered every ounce of his being to his power, how he performed magic with every cell in his body, making the most complex of spells seem so easy, she couldn’t get enough of it.   
  
What was he trying to accomplish?   
  
She waved her hand through the magic; the signature was ward-like, she realised. Yet different from the wards she’d seen him erect before. Something additional was in this one. Interesting. What could it be? Frowning, her eyes stayed fixed on the casting wizard, hoping to get some clues from his movements to what he was doing precisely. But it resembled nothing to any type of ward-casting she’d read the theory on. Plus, wards never took this much power or required such intricate, elegant movements.  
  
 _Merlin, he’s magnificent when he’s casting._  
  
‘Then again, maybe you would,’ Herrmann said with a humorous lilt in his voice, interrupting her thought process rather abruptly.  
  
‘Excuse me?’ Hermione snapped, turning her head to him.  
  
Herrmann gestured at her as if to say: look at yourself. ‘It’s quite something watching them cast, isn’t it?’ he said knowingly.  
  
She felt her cheeks burn, but Hludowig continued before she had a chance to cover up her embarrassment.   
  
‘You should’ve seen Gellert take down Nurmengard by summoning his magic back from the walls: the sheer force such an act takes, the control one has to have to achieve it,’ he shook his head in adoration, looking at the sky dreamily for a second, ‘it was absolutely breathtaking to watch. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it.’  
  
‘Which was why they caught you so quickly,’ Hermione deduced.  
  
Hludowig nodded. ‘Yes,’ he looked down contemplatively, ‘I suppose I wouldn’t have been staring at Gellert mesmerised if I’d seen him cast recently, but it had been a while and I’d forgotten …’ he trailed off, looking at something that wasn’t there.  
  
Another bright flash drew Hermione’s attention. Something rippled through the air and several coloured arches formed in the air from the contours of the island to the tower as if resembling a giant birdcage. Said birdcage began fluctuating in every colour of the visible spectrum. For a moment, Hermione felt like she was on Mars when her environment turned red. Slowly, it shifted to another colour, taking away the alien sensation and replacing it for another.   
  
On top of the tower, Lord Voldemort lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes at the strands of magic in the air before he abruptly turned his head to her position. That striking red gaze met her eyes, causing her cheeks to rouge furiously. Getting caught staring at him didn’t do wonders for Hermione’s emotions, so she quickly averted her eyes. A satisfied smirk appeared on his snakelike face, and his gaze wandered in amusement to the motionless, mutilated body of Dolohov. His smirk widened before he turned away and swirled out of sight in a whoosh of darkness.   
  
‘You should leave while you still can,’ Herrmann said warningly.  
  
Hermione looked up and merely stared at the ex-general’s now yellowish face in reply, determined to avoid looking in the direction of that tower.  
  
‘He’s going to reset the Azkaban wards if I am not mistaken,’ Herrmann elaborated. ‘Once he’s done, I doubt anyone can enter or exit without his personal approval.’  
  
‘Azkaban’s wards only keep people in,’ Hermione countered, peeking at the tower from the corner of her eye and heaving a relieved sigh when Voldemort was no longer visible there.  
  
‘That birdcage looks an awful lot like the formation of a Ravenclaw Ward, which is a multi-dimensional ward; one of the hardest ones by itself to break through, and he’s set it in line with the power nodes of Azkaban.’ Herrmann pointed to the tower and some of the points on the ground. ‘The prison’s wards are still down. I’d wager a guess he’s planning to merge them together. Not even Gellert could break through merged wards; so if you want to leave, you better hurry.’   
  
She stared at the now green birdcage that was gradually changing to blue. A Ravenclaw Ward ... would something of the sorts be around Hogwarts then as well? That wouldn’t be good, would it? If he knew how to create it, he was bound to know how to break through one, too. Hogwarts wouldn’t be safe at all then. Well, Professor Dumbledore was there; but still … not good.  
  
Behind her, the ex-general was muttering underneath his breath in awe. ‘Amazing. If it works. It all depends on avoiding disintegration of the wards by each other. I wonder how he plans to compensate for the power drain and the mutual repulsion … hmm …’   
  
‘What do you mean, IF it works?’   
  
‘Well,’ Herrmann shrugged, ‘it’s only theory and speculation that it’s possible to merge two alpha class wards. Hiarhi once sustained two alpha class wards in a laboratory under conditioned circumstances for over two hours before she blew up the building, but she’s the only one to succeed at it for more than a few seconds. There is a lot of theorising on how it should be done safely, but it’s simply not common practise yet. It’s considered too dangerous and volatile to try out in populated areas. Still, if these wards becomes fully operational, if he can get it to work, it will undoubtedly provide him with one of the strongest wards on the planet.’   
  
‘Before we blow up,’ Hermione added dryly.  
  
Herrmann chuckled. ‘Yes, before that.’   
  
‘Great.’  
  
‘Hence my comment on you getting out of here,’ he added seriously.  
  
‘I don’t have an Apparition license.’  
  
‘So?’   
  
‘And I’ve never done it before. I only read the theory,’ she admitted grudgingly.  
  
‘I could Apparate us both out,’ he offered.  
  
Hermione smirked and folded her arms over each other. ‘And out comes the cat from the bag,’ she said icily. ‘Nice try. Think again.’  
  
‘Just offering,’ Herrmann said innocently.   
  
A loud, insane cackle bellowed through the sky. Hearing it, Hermione sighed. Before she looked up, she already knew she was going to see Bellatrix Lestrange. The mad witch was swerving through the air on her broom. A large brownish bag of rags dangled dangerously at the edge of it, emitting a high-pitched scream when Bella nose-dived to the ground and kicked said rags off her broom a few meters above the ground. It plummeted to the rock grounds with a thud and several sickening cracks.   
  
 _Did I just see an arm in there? That’s a person!_  
  
Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth upon realising the oddly shaped bundle was a human being and obviously not in a well state. Bella circled the person, whoever it was, and pointed her wand.   
  
‘Crucio!’   
  
Another high-pitched scream filled the air, but the person hardly moved under the curse. He or she was already too badly injured. Bella’s insane laugh drowned out the screams easily, and in fury, Hermione took a step forwards, clutching to her wand, when she got yanked back by her collar.  
  
‘Pick your battles, Granger. You can’t win this one,’ Herrmann hissed.   
  
‘Help me! Someone … please!’ It was a female voice coming from the rags.  
  
 _That voice … Do I know that person?_  
  
‘Let go of me,’ Hermione hissed back, poking her wand into his body. ‘Now.’  
  
xxx


End file.
